


On my Mind, in my Soul

by TariTheNurse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Arguing, Asgard (Marvel), Burgling, Caught Redhanded, Cliffhanger, Confinement, Crime, Crimes & Criminals, Deceit, Distrust, Drinking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, Honesty, Imprisonment, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Killing, Lemon, Mention of past trauma, On the Run, Organized Crime, Pining, Poisoning, Reader-Insert, Restraint, Smut, Stalking, Stealing, Terminal Illnesses, Valhalla, lying, private collections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2019-11-18 13:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18121658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: It’s the Loki we know, but he’s made himself a home on Earth, curating an impressive collection of valuables from across the universe – all for himself and the fame he finds despite the New York incident. Reader's a highly skilled burglar/thief that excells in pulling off one-person heists.





	1. On my Mind, in my Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Got three things to go by on this from a friend: A tiger’s eye pendant, a library (which I decided could be private), and the song Floating by Alina Baraz (shown in bold).

It’s in moments like these that you feel alive. Heartbeat’s slowed to a steady thump that counts each second, dictates the timing of your movements to reach a level of perfection otherwise impossible to achieve. The shadows belong to you, guarding the path you pick through the quiet mansion.

The place’s almost familiar after the many times you’ve tagged along with groups, visited under pretence of being a tourist, a student, another collector with a rare pass to the prestigious private collection of Loki Odinson. _Or is Laufeyson maybe more fitting?_ you wonder as you pass by a glass-encased exhibit of Jotun spears – the cold from the container soothing the skin even at a distance. Still you continue, quiet footstep never once causing the floor to creak. Tugging yourself into the shadows, you count for the guard to exit the room ahead, knowing which way his predetermined route will take him and how much time you have to finally reach your objective.

The EMP is small, only knocking out the security of that one cabinet. With a flourish, you pull out the meter and attach it to the base of lacquered wood, smiling as the reading comes back as a series of zeros. The tiniest of tinkling can be heard from the tools that work through the hinges rather than the (probably) boobytrapped lock, and as you place the small doors on the floor (dart-contraption and all), you can’t help but smile.

And then, finally, you cradle the one thing you’re after in your hand. For a moment, you allow the rush of the accomplishment to surge through your body. Tiny flecks of light dance across the surroundings even in the dimly illuminated room which makes the colours all the more prominent. Fiery agates come alive, bleeding into the black sapphires, and peridots, stopped only by a pale, white of the rarer kind of topaz. And then it’s gone. Tugged into a tiny velvet pouch which in turn disappears into your bra. A bit of assembly is needed before you can leave – you’re not the kind of burglar that leaves a mess behind. _30 seconds._ You have to hurry now or the guard will see you.

Pausing by the last door, you can see the window on the other side of the library. The problem is that the curtains aren’t quite closed anymore, something you had been careful to do because you didn’t want to lock the window behind you. Stealing a glance, there’s no one in sight. Maybe you’d been unfortunate and a guard or maid had found the irregularity? It’s a possibility, but the doubt pulls your further into the darkness until you feel a cool body press against your back.

“I admire your skill, little thief.” The whispered words fan the tiny hairs on your neck. “It was certainly delightful to watch your work, but I’m afraid I can’t let you leave with what’s mine.”

You hold still as a cool hand reaches up and unzips your tight jacket. Maybe a slight shiver betrays you when his fingers brush against your breast. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, you can feel the chuckle in his chest.

“My my…” His lips graze the shell of your ear, his voice a soft purr. “Perhaps we can come to an understanding that won’t involve your Midgardian police.”

Turning carefully in his grasp, you finally lay eyes on the owner of the estate and the jewellery you’d attempted to steal. Dark, green eyes sparkle in the shadows further above you than you’d expected, his face pale and hard as if made of the finest marble. A smile that matches his grows on your lips, crooked and tempting, fitting the way you bat your eyelashes coyly.

“Mister Loki,” you purr, making sure to maintain the contact of your bodies even now, “what an honour to meet you in person.”

 **You know what I need.**  
**It's in the way that you're holding me, bringing me close.**  
 

“An honour?” Teeth glint dangerously as his smile broadens. “And here I thought honour wasn’t involved considering you’re stealing from me.”

A cool hand finds a resting place on the small of your back, making your arch into him. With a tiny giggle, you grab the opportunity to press you chest up, revealing the cleavage through the zipper he hasn’t closed. Shifting the weight allows a knee and inner thigh to travel towards his hip. _Was that a sigh?_

“Can’t blame a girl for doing anything to get your attention, can you?”

Nothing stops you from tangling fingers in his raven hair. No one objects as your palm smooths the fabric of the silken shirt that enhances his eyes oh so perfectly. A heat’s building inside you from the tension while you search for the line that shouldn’t be crossed, exploring the surprisingly muscular expanses of his chest and shoulders. For a moment there’s no world beyond this little shadowy corner. No before or after as you stretch to plant a soft kiss on his jaw. Then his cheek. It’s with delight that you sense Loki turn his head in search for your mouth, and you reward him. Lips mold perfectly although battling for control, an urge that can be felt as hands roam.

It’s as your tongue slips past his teeth that your hands recover the small pouch, but you still indulge him a bit longer. Or maybe it’s for your own sake? The moan that escapes you wasn’t planned, at least. And then you pull the zip tie with an effortless grace that allows you to slip away, skip across the private library while green eyes struggle to focus on your lithe form. Cool night air brushes your hair into the face for a second as [Y/E/C] locks with green, then you’re gone in the night.

 **Every time you move.**  
**You’re looking like you’re dancing.**  
…

A part of you had insisted that it would be the most foolish thing you could do.

Still…here you are dressed as though you belonged with the rich people shuffling through the manor…and with jewellery that should be more than familiar to the host. Originally, you’d intended to sell the Tiger’s Eye Pendant, and it had bothered you when you couldn’t get yourself to part with it. Now it graced your chest, adding the only colour to an outfit you had “borrowed” in a similar (though less exiting) way.

 _Why’ve I come?_ Weaving through the crowd, your hands are itching to relieve more than one daft, old granny of the decoration that clearly is too heavy for the frail person. Instead, you grab a crystal glass from a tray before heading down a corridor without a proper aim in your steps.

The noise of the party is muffled in this part of the house. Coming to a halt, it takes a moment before you recognize the shadowy corner, making your heart beat faster than it should and a heat build deep within you. There’s no one in the corner, however, spurring you on to towards the door left ajar to the private library.

Slipping inside, it’s nearly comforting to see the curtains slightly withdrawn to reveal the window you’d used for a hasty exit on your last visit. This time, there’s no hurrying needed, and you admire the view of wall-to-wall books on three sides, only broken by the door and a few paintings. Soft chairs and couches litter the room at random together with low tables of glass or metal. An old globe is split, standing in the corner with each half containing bottles and carafes.

“Miss. You’re not allowed in here.” The voice from the door is jarring, brusque.

Turning around, you flash a bright smile at the neatly dressed guard. “My bad, got lost trying to find the ladies’ room.”

Reunited with the other guests, you suppose it’s lucky he didn’t think more of your little detour. Slipping a passerby’s bracelet into your purse, there’s little else to entertain you than the well-equipped bar at the other side of the dancefloor and you’re in the middle of the swaying couples when cool fingers slip around your wrist.

“How kind of you to come,” Loki purrs softly, “especially as you weren’t invited.” Circling each other, his grasp changes to that of a dancer’s, and you find yourself following his graceful steps without meaning to. “Or have you come to return what belongs to me?”

“And here I thought you’d be happy simply to see me.”

The steps you take to get away from him are transformed into a flourishing spin before landing you back in his arms, flush against his chest. Green eyes sparkle like ice. Even the air around him is cool, making you gasp as though you’ve jumped into the chilled water of a forest lake, and the sway of his hips does absolutely nothing to keep the little mental bath a solitary experience. Unbidden by you but spurred on by Loki’s hands shimming over your body, images invade your mind. A dreamy scenario of his naked body against yours in the green waters. Crystalline waves lapping against your breasts with each movement.

“One does not rule out the other.”

You have to blink to refocus on the man smirking at you. _I’m in too deep._ Still, there are no protests as he leads you away from the crowd, retracing the steps that lead down a darkened corridor.

 **I'm swimming in everything you said.**  
**I'm thinking 'bout jumping in instead.**  
**I've got you skinny dipping deep inside my head.**

You’re vaguely aware of the click of the lock, sealing the two of you in the library, but by this point Loki’s mouth has found you and is exploring anything within reach, causing a delightful shiver to spread whenever his lips make contact with your skin. Soft kisses grow greedy, turn to teasing bites and suckling along the collarbones, below the ear, while his hands deftly strips your clothes away leaving nothing but the pendant.

Moaning into his mouth, your own hands have busied themselves too and soon there are no barriers between warm hands and cool body. Each muscle bunches and rolls like ropes as Loki lifts you against the door, cool hands holding you effortlessly by your ass and thighs to bring your chest within reach of his mouth. The pleasurable sting causes a new wave of excitement to pool between your legs and you wriggle to gain friction, finding it as the shockingly cold cockhead nudges slick folds. Again, and again. Using your legs for leverage and allowing your nails to dig into the ivory skin of his shoulders, you roll your hips until each inch of his considerable length is coated. Every fiber of your being is charged with the energy dancing between the two bodies, a latent power waiting to be released in an explosion. _There._ Loki’s cock’s aligned perfectly with the shivering core, and the world stops long enough for sharp inhalations to be drawn out and for gazes to lock before you pull yourself onto the hard member until he’s fully sheathed in the silky heat.

It could’ve been your mind playing tricks on you when the room seems to spin and tilt, but the velvet fabric of the chaise longue against your sweaty back proves otherwise. Not once has he left you completely empty until now. Trapped beneath his form, you whimper at the loss – a whimper that turns into a drawn-out moan as Loki re-enters slowly, careful to watch every little reaction dancing across your face. And you let him. You allow yourself to give yourself over.

Slow thrusts turn faster. Harder. Fabric burns your shoulder blades as he partially lifts partially shoves you onto the sole armrest until you are arching enough to watch the bookcases dance upside-down with each rutting roll of his hips. Teeth grasp already sensitive nipples while strong hands hold you in place. _Strong hand._ Just one because the other skims past the hipbone before coming to rest, pushing against the pounding of his cock and the thumb works slow, insistent circles on your clit.

“Let go, kitten,” Loki whispers hoarsely, “let me hear you roar.”

And you do. Black and white dances before your eyes as the pent-up energy is released. Flaring through you as if to consume all that you are, it grabs your body and shakes it, tosses it over the precipice you’ve been balancing on. As if from far away, you hear his name shouted with your own voice until both body and sound fails you with one last spasm, eliciting a cold surge starting at the very core then spreading through you entirely.

Heavy breath fans your neck and collarbone as proof that Loki must have dragged you back onto the chaise longue proper. It takes a moment longer before he pulls away, leaving you empty and weak. A soft glitter embraces you, dancing across skin and between legs as you watch through your lashes. The same’s happening to Loki, and when the magic retreats it leaves you refreshed and dressed…save for the Tiger’s Eye Pendant which now hangs from the owner’s fingers.

“Take time to recover.” He’s almost closed the door behind him when he pauses to look back. “Don’t fool yourself thinking I’ll be this gentle another time.”

Some part of you wants to complain about losing the jewellery, but mostly your body’s sated, and really…what had you expected?

**2am, and I'm still breathing.**  
**Staring at my thoughts floating up to the ceiling.**

Getting to your feet’s a wobbly affair, a tendency that passes but leaves a sweet soreness behind that still has hold of you by the time you make it home and collapse onto your cold bed. Emptying the purse out, you stack bracelets, rings, and necklaces separately until…peridots and fiery agates shimmer in the light from the naked lightbulb. Tentatively, you reach for the familiar pendant half expecting the fingers to pass straight through only to find that it’s very much there. Cool and hard in your palm. Turning it over, you find thin letters etched into the smooth golden back – letters you know are for you only.


	2. Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt this time are: “Put your records on” by CB Rae (used passaged shown with bold), earrings, and the colour green.

Music’s playing in your ears as you make your way slowly through the museum, keeping the perfect distance to make it seem to the tour guide as though you’re part of the group while to them (a class of history students and their teacher) you’re just some random guest that happens to be going at the same pace. The map of the place in your hand is filled with thin lines by now, indicating camera angles and “alternative” routes.

“And over here we have a temporary collection on loan from London…” the voice of the guide announces through a lull in the song.

He’s beaming proudly as the class oohs and aahs at the glittery reflection of the ornate Crown Jewels. _Amateurs._ Sure, the lineup of necklaces and crowns looks impressive, but the main items are merely very good replicas made to satisfy the curiosity of people who can’t make it to the Tower of London – the real deal’s safely stored there, only to be removed on special occasions when the queen and her family actually uses it.

However, some of the less impressive items are not fakes. Taking a place before a display case, your eyes fall upon a comparatively drab pair of earrings. Fat, pinkish pearls dangle from golden drops and ovals with a multitude of tiny, white gemstones. _Yuck._ There are tastier ways of showing off wealth in your opinion, but you also understand that sometimes it’s not about having style per se, rather about flaunting that you can have anything. What in your eyes might be ugly (or at the best of cases kitsch) is probably a blatant show of power because deep down humans are simple creatures that understand a simple language: rarity equals wealth and wealth in turn equals power. _And those earrings are rare, no one in their right mind would make more than a single pair._

So why those? Simple. You got a job and the buyer was smart enough to wrap it in a dare, claiming no one could get their hands on that set of pearls. To top the whole deal off, the guy’s willing to do wire transfer but a cash bonus if the job’s completed within a month.

You have to hide a smile as you tug the map and pencil into your purse, slipping your phone out for a moment to skip a tune in the hopes of the shuffle finding something more celebratory for the way out of the museum.

It takes a few tries before you succeed, meaning you’re already back in the grand room by the time you return the device to safety and your fingers brush against something unexpected, causing you to pause in your tracks and glance around, but no one stands out in the crowd of tourists and other visitors. One peek into the depths of the purse’s enough to grant a view of an envelope made of special paper. _Or parchment?_ A cold shudder runs down your spine upon realisation that someone must have gotten close enough to slip it in there although you always keep the damn bag close to your body, even tugged under the arm. Whoever it is…they are good. _Too good._ It’s as if every camera’s trained on you, like each and every single person’s watching even the smallest movement you make, sending prickly waves of tension to the back of your legs while every hair stands on end.

Forcing yourself to move slowly, you leave the museum. Following the most crowded routes home, you only check for followers a million times. Discreetly, of course, despite the increasing frustration of spotting no one in pursuit or out of place (as much as anyone can look that in New York) not even when walking five times around the block before finally letting yourself into your little flat.

It almost feels safe as the deadbolt clicks into place and you allow yourself to slide onto the floor. Deep breaths tasting of curry from last night’s dinner and book dust helps ground you enough to stop your hands from shaking by the time they pull out the envelope. Turning it around and around, you have to admire the cottonlike quality of the paper and the clearly manually cut edges that shout craftmanship to the heavens. _The sender is loaded or makes his own paper._

By the table under the glaring light of a lamp, it’s obvious that the person hasn’t left any other clues on the outside of the envelope, forcing you to open it after a careful examination to avoid any hidden nuisances. You’re holding your breath as you peer into the folds, spotting a photograph which you shake out. _What the…?_

Trying to pretend that the image’s taken months ago is futile, but still you hurry to the kitchen and slam down on your knees by the cabinet under the sink so hard that you bounce painfully on the linoleum. It doesn’t delay you. Eyes sting with pain as you pull the contents out, scattering the bucket with cleaning agents across the floor. You slam a fist onto a loose board to tip it up, revealing the front of a safe nestled among insulation and rubble. Five beeps and a fingerprint are all it takes for your worry to be proven right.

“Fucking! Alien! _Pissflap_!” Each exclamation’s punctuated by punches to the cabinet door.

At first glance, the contents could appear to be exactly the way you left them this morning…but the Tiger’s Eye Pendant’s missing.

**Maybe sometimes we got it wrong, but it's all right  
The more things seems to change, the more they stay the same**

…

Making the right call can be hard in the heat of the moment, but you managed. More than a week since you’ve been burgled and your thoughts stray all too often to the future and the plans it holds to right the wrong, the only consolation being that the job you have to finish first will be a means to that very end.

Hanging upside down from the skylight, each movement has to be perfectly controlled to stay out of the camera’s view until you’ve reached it and slipped the screen before it. It had taken several tries to get the image just right, but the result was close to perfection. _Close enough to get me some minutes._ That’s all you need.

Moments later, you’re on the floor. Harness and rope still attached for a quick escape as you work through the hollow pedestal because gods know you’ll be screwed if you disturb the glass encasing the exhibition. Each movement tugs at the restraining tether and gnaws at your skin. You reach carefully through wires for the sensors and lights, the Stark “knife” tugged gingerly away in the palm with nothing but a rubber sleeve to prevent bloodshed. Gloves? Of course you wear them, not only preventing fingerprints but granting a safe grip. Without them your hands would have been slippery with sweat and even now there are a few drops running down your spine before they get soaked up in the top. _There._ You breathe in deeply a couple of times before unsheathing the knife and cutting through the plate where the loot’s resting. No normal knife would be able to do it and getting this tool had been expensive… _but so worth it!_

A few more breaths, then you can pack away the fugly earrings and your gear. Just in time, too, as you already can hear the night guard approaching. It’s with a minimal thought of remorse that you ascend, the gears whirring softly as you speed towards the fresh night air.

…

There’s a market for everything whether it’s illegally obtained tools or perfectly made replicas. Studying the simile glinting in the hand, you know that even Loki will have to look carefully to detect the fraud…especially after you’ve added the finishing touch on the back of the pendant.

Part of the bonus has been spent on that piece of work while the rest has gone into setting up your safehouse for a longer stay. You still come and go from your usual apartment, ensuring the façade of a student living there, but everything important has slowly been moved to the other side of upper Manhattan and after the last security measures the place’s close to impenetrable. _And impossible to find._

Crouched by the coffee table, you go through the last plans. The private guards’ rounds must have been shuffled, of course, and will take a couple of stake outs to learn. Next, you’re certain that the Asgardian snob must have improved the locks on windows and doors as a pure minimum, leaving a reduced list of access points for a human to use. Question is if he’s considered something like a drone.

…

**Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song**  
**You go ahead, let your hair down**  
**Sapphire and faded jeans**  
**I hope you get your dreams**  
  


The cool air dries the tip of your tongue, but you’re too engrossed in navigating the toy through the chimney to care. Each foot of the descend brings it closer to the smoldering ashes and the thing can only handle a certain amount of heat what with all the plastic components, so as soon as it slips out from the fireplace, you heave a sigh of relief. _Now comes the hard part._ Orienting yourself through the little screen, the drone whirrs along corridors and through grand rooms in search of a safe entryway fitting a woman. Patiently, you ignore the shingles of the roof radiating cold into your muscles as the minutes tick by until you strike gold in the form of a bathroom window. It’s narrow but not impossibly so and you can’t help but laugh quietly to yourself as you use the flying robot to unlatch it and push it open wide.

Slipping in is simple enough, you only hesitate as you land on the marble floor because you hadn’t expected the dampness of the air. Every hard, cool surface’s laced with a fine condensation, but running a hand over the faucets gives a sense of relief that whoever has showered or bathed must have done this a while ago. It’s disconcerting though. Loki supposedly has a private bathroom en suite with his bedroom, so who would use this? There’s no hamper with laundry, no dirty towels or soaps that have been used. Nothing personal. _Perhaps he’s got visitors?_ It’d surprise you. In fact, you’re almost willing to bet that an employee’s taken the liberty of using the facilities but either way, it doesn’t change the plan.

Silently slipping through the door, you know where to go and within minutes have the display in view from a position in a shadowy corner. There’s still a guard lingering, seemingly taking an interest in a set of blueish daggers. _Move…come on…you want to finish the round and get some coffee._ Silently willing him on results in absolutely nothing and you can feel anxiousness prickle your back and force you shoulders upwards and forwards. Tomorrow, you’ll need to find a massage therapist to knead the tensions away.

Finally, after agonizing minutes, the guy leaves, whistling a soft tune as if he’s proud of a job well done. At least it might hint of extra time if he lingers in other rooms too.

You’re about to work through the case the normal way when you notice the fault in the glass’s positioning and a brief examination leads to a broad smile stretching your cheeks as you place the glove covered hands on either side of the housing and lift it off – no alarms or boobytraps triggered. The exchange’s quick. A glance on your watch, and then you shuffle over to the nearby shelf with the peculiar knives. Stuck tip-down into a relatively common utensil holder it’s almost as though the eccentric collector only has them for show because he knows visitors might be awed while he himself doesn’t consider them of any specific worth although the blue flaring through the gunmetal-dark material is out of this world. _Maybe literally._

It’s when you reach out for one that it shimmers out of existence in a familiar golden haze causing your heart to skip a beat. Cursing inwardly for wasting time, you turn to hightail it out of the mansion but nearly collide with the very same blade you were admiring, the tip now resting delicately on your chest.

“My little thief.” Finally looking past the weapon, your eyes meet Loki’s. “I had almost given up hope that you would come.”

Returning the smirk he grants you, it’s still a careful shrug rolling through your shoulder. “Been busy…but I guess you know that.”

It’s impossible to ignore the quick sweep his tongue makes along the lower lip as he looks you over, the widening of his pupils that sends a flutter through your stomach in anticipation. _Never again_ , you’d promised yourself and still you find the memories begin to team up with the view of the tall figure before you. He’s in command of the situation unless you manage to escape. _How?_ He’s the one with a weapon, its tip felt through the fabric like a pin-prick on the slope of your breast – the tiniest movement and it will be more than just a prick. _How?_

Looking up at him, you smile innocently to prevent any sudden reactions as you reach out for his free hand. He lets you take it, entwining fingers delicately for a moment before leading it to your face. A tender kiss in his palm, the thin cool skin of his wrist before you let his hand rest on your shoulder, allowing you to reach for him and gently nudge the knife-wielding hand aside though never letting go of the arm. You fingers trace the slender limb lazily, half-forgotten as lips brush along his jaw.

_Banzai._ Loki’s fingers lock into your hair, folding around the base of your skull to steer you, both your lips onto his but also your body trailing after him as he backs towards the centre of the room. If memory serves you right, there’s some kind of puffy bench or other which means that you only have until you reach that to incapacitate him. _Why? I could just go along._ Sweet temptation makes your heart flutter against your ribs and a heat pools low in you belly. It’s a dangerous game to play with someone like him and you had promised yourself last time that it would never happen again…just like you had sworn never to return to this place.

A quick glance verifies that you have about four steps before he’ll have you locked beneath him. Grinding against his groin with your hip, the reaction comes immediately in form of a groan and you pray that he’s distracted enough for a few seconds. With a swift snatch you manage to tear the dagger from his grip, brandishing it between your bodies with the tip pointed at his growing cock.

Breathing heavily, Loki’s aware enough of what’s going on to stop moving, his eyes filling with cold fury as he glances towards the alternative hostage situation. “What’s this? Complaints?” Somehow, he still manages to patronize you.

“Consider it a refusal.”

“You didn’t say no last time, my pet.”

He’s right, but you’re not about to give in again and let him get more power over you. “It served it’s purpose. No more.”

“Ouch.” Thin lips curl in a snarl. “It hurts my feelings….especially when you lie that badly.”

It won’t help to discuss past events with him (especially when you don’t want to admit the truth yourself), so you change focus to the situation at hand by ordering the Asgardian to let go of you. Something he only begrudgingly does when you add more pressure with the knife and it slips through the fabric of his trousers with a soft rippling sound as each thread is severed.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment you step back, creating distance between the god and the weapon, he moves. A sharp pain races up from wrist to shoulder as the metal clatters across the floor, but you don’t have time to register where it lands because your aching arm is twisted behind your back and used as leverage to force you onto the floor with your face smushed into the green velvet of the seat. It smells of sawdust and a hint of camphor, but mostly it just grates against your skin.

A glint of light reflecting of metal captivates you, ensuring that Loki can use less power to hold you still as you stare at the dark grey-blue tip less than an inch from your eye. _Shit._ You can’t breathe. Can’t move or think. Only one other sentence keeps circling in your mind – unfortunately it’s full of self-deprecation rather than any useful ideas. _Shit._

“Don’t mistake my indulgence for weakness,” the cold hiss explains, “letting you go last time was not a show of defeat as you very well know.”

The dagger moves out of sight, leaving you to stare one-eyed at a shade of green you’ll never forget anymore. Then you feel the prick at the nape of your skull. The cocky alien’s in control now even as he lets go of you and this time there’s nothing playful about the current predicament like the previous encounters had been. Sweat’s breaking out all over your body and you have to swallow hard to simply be able to breathe.

“So what now?” Your sneer’s partially muffled by the plush piece of furniture. “Gonna rape me, you sick bastard?”

He hits you so hard that you skid across the polished floor. Black spots dance before your eyes even after you manage to crack the jaw back in place. You’ve been hit before. Hell, it’s one of the reasons you became such a good burglar, but this tops it all and calls forth hot tears that spill down your face. You don’t care. You especially don’t care when he yanks your face skywards by grabbing hold of the messy hair and the freezing length of a by now familiar blade lands on your throat.

“Look. At. Me.” A spark within you wants to resist, but you can’t and your view fills with the emerald irises that burn with hate. “I may be harsh and cruel, but I would never do something like that to you.” He seems to realize what he’s said and adds quickly, “to anyone.”

**Just more than I could take**  
**Pity for pity's sake**  
**Some nights kept me awake**  
**I thought that I was stronger**  


…

The world’s fuzzy and soft in the night by the time you attempt to open your eyes. It takes a moment to get your bearing and another one before the memories return and you sit up with a gasp. You’re back in your little apartment, but you have no recollection of how you got there. The last you do recall are Loki’s green eyes before a sensation of falling.

_What did he do?_ Padding yourself down, it’s with some disbelief that you accept that you not only are wearing exactly the same as when you set out the night before, but there are no other injuries than a few bruises…excluding the deep gash in your pride. No trace of unwarranted contact despite the fact that you must have been completely at Loki’s mercy. Knowing that, you should be relieved. Not afraid. Not shameful. Not…filling with regret as if you had been the one to make advances only to be turned down by him. _Messed up. Too messed up._ Is it possible to get addicted to a person?

Frustrated, you push off the bed and begin pacing hectically through the small apartment, a scathing, internal monologue running on repeat to remind you of why it’s good you got away from Loki’s mansion without anything else happening.

…

Turning in your bed, you’re vaguely aware that the light has changed to soft grey tones - you must have managed to fall asleep after all. Tugging at the oversized t-shirt to get comfortable again, the feeling of the pendant against your chest solicits a drowsy smile.

…

You near a state of wakefulness in protest of the chill stealing through your limbs. Presuming in the sleepy state that you must have pushed the covers aside, you grope for it. _Not covers._ The observation flashes through your head and startles you to move quickly for the crevice between mattress and headboard for a knife you keep tugged away there, but cold fingers wrap round your wrists.

“Not so fast.”

Blinking blearily, you stare up into Loki’s face. The glint in his gorgeous, green eyes is mischievous, not unlike the curling smile that broadens as he takes in your exposed form because no, a faded t-shirt and a pair of panties doesn’t count as cover when he’s the one blatantly studying each curve. You see how his eyes darken, hear the shortness of both your breaths, and memories come flooding back followed by a strong heat in your womanhood.

Your attempt at speaking’s a helpless croak until you clear the throat. “Ch-changed your mind?”

The gaze alone could hold you in place as he refocuses on your mouth. Unbiddenly, you wet your lips that suddenly have gone dry.

“I do not deny that I appreciate your body immensely, but that’s not why I’m here.” Loki changes the hold on your wrist with ease, freeing a hand to caress your neck, your throat, before pulling out the pendant from under the cotton. “No…this is why.” Faint embers are reflected onto his cold irises. “I must congratulate you, my dear…your plan was not bad and had I been a mere human, then I would probably not have noticed the exchange.”

The weight of the necklace returns onto your chest, now cold from his fingers that begin straightening the chain. Each stroke ghosts across sensitive skin, sending goosebumps racing over your body and a soft ache warns you how your nipples are initiating a slow uprising against the t-shirt.

“Why d’you want it back? You let me leave with it!”

Your challenge’s meant to distract him from what he’s doing, but he merely glances before beginning to smoothen the fabric. “I knew you’d come back for it.”

“What?” The word pops out hard and mocking. “You think it’s more than financial value to me?” _It doesn’t…does it?_ You’d meant to sell it originally, but then changed your mind and blew of the potential buyers without remorse.

“Pet…don’t pretend we don’t think alike, you and I.” Leaning down, Loki’s lips brush gently against your earlobe and his hair tickles against your chin, its scent of frost and camphor setting off a new shiver that heads straight for your aching core. “You’d come because of your pride. For the challenge. And deep down…because you yearn for something more.”

The Asgardian tugs playfully at your ear with his teeth, hands sliding along your arm and side before reverting and you feel your body betray your mind as it arches into his touch. Cupping your face in a large hand his lips meet yours gently before he pulls back, letting go completely although he doesn’t get off the bed.

“Please…” broken-voiced, you try to formulate what you need.

Light fingertips on your thigh stokes the burning need. “Tell me what you want, kitten. Last time you denied me my fun…what will it be now?”

“I want…I…” Loki stays within reach of your grabbing hands but doesn’t move towards you either. “I want you…need…please?”

“Are you certain?” His grip on your hip’s still soft. Too soft. “I’d like to reward you for the skill it took to swap the pendant, but you have to want it.”

“Just _shut_ up and fuck me!”

Gentleness is obliterated by a bruising urgency as Loki takes over your body. Every inch’s kissed, bitten, licked, or explored with cool hands that booth bruise and soothe the burning traces. Every time you gasp for breath, his lips find yours to swallow each moan that the pressure of his thigh between your legs elicit. _Not enough._ He’s gotten you to the brink of bliss, but like a mirage it keeps eluding you and the feverish need for more’s burning you from the inside, leaving a hollow sensation that can be filled if only… A whine escapes your lips, warning the god as you reach for the belt buckle in desperation only to feel them snared and forced above your head.

He positions himself between your legs, nudging the knees apart. “So eager…” the growl’s guttural, nearly muffling the words, “longing for more…”

The golden shimmer’s visible even with half-closed eyes, but although you can feel his skin against your legs and arms as Loki repositions himself, your soaked panties still form a barrier between the cockhead as it pushes against your folds, and the old t-shirt insulates you from the chill of his chest.

“Loki…pleeaase!”

Arching against him, you feel the tremble passing through his body and for the briefest of moments it’s as though his eyes are red, but you’re distracted by his skin changing hue and the man, the alien, growing ever so slightly that his physique becomes impressively dimensioned. A scratching like claws diverts your eyes to the now blueish hands where darker talons have replaced the nails. _I should be terrified._ The logic’s clear yet simultaneously completely irrelevant as icy lips find the tender skin on your throat where they suck, marking a path spot by spot to your clavicle…then past…and as the V of the cotton obstructs the proceedings, Loki shreds it and tosses the scraps onto the floor without taking his burning gaze off your body now exposed beneath him.

“Little pet…if I hurt you…” He forces his gaze to your face, concern simmering in the darkness of lust. “If I hurt you or you want me to stop…say Laufey.”

The request itself is not unfamiliar unlike the word so you nod. “Mighty confident talking wh–“

You don’t get further because he kisses you again, forcefully, hungrily, biting your bottom lip as his fingers slip past the hem of the panties and delve between your soaking folds to the delighted groans of both of you. Perfect strokes mix with circles around the clit and entrance, often with added pressure onto the former that has you crying out Loki’s name like a prayer. Still, he’s got your wrists in an iron grip even if it clearly frustrates him.

“Belt,” you gasp, causing him to pause, “will get…get your h-hand…free.”

The curling smile bares gleaming, pointed teeth. “What a delightfully filthy idea.”

Not only does he use the belt to restrain your hands. No. The god also takes the opportunity to turn you around onto elbows and knees, allowing him to take place behind you. Claws trail your spine all the way to the elastic of the remaining clothes and you can feel it give way, sliding under the curve of your ass and exposing the glistening heat of your cunt. Then they too are torn apart. Cold hands slam onto the butt cheeks, forming an anchor for Loki as he begins to lab up your arousal, his nose nudging at your core with every movement.

Heat and tension builds within you, has you pleading for your god to fill you or let you cum on his tongue and fingers. Again and again, the bastard denies you release. Each time, he chuckles darkly as he has you watch past your own body how the strong hand pumps a nervewrecking huge cock languidly. The tip a dark purple with the exception of the milky pre-cum leaking out each time his fist passes ridges similar to those on the rest of his body. And all you can think of is how badly you want him inside you, to feel the ridges against the smooth walls, and you pout and curse when he returns to the ministrations that has his face glistening.

Balancing on the edge, you nearly scream as he pulls away once more, but this time his strong hands brings your legs together with his knees on the outside, and you gasp from anticipation and the thundering need at the feeling of the cool cockhead tracing your folds, each pass nudging further in until his manhood’s fully covered in your juices and he’s perfectly aligned.

“Don’t hold back, kitten.”

And with that Loki slides into your tight core, stretching you to the very limits which causes a sweet, stinging pain to heighten the sensation of each ridge that delves in and makes you shout with pleasure on contact with your g-spot. Gold shimmers, freeing your wrists so you can brace yourself.

“That’s it,” he growls, “ let me hear you.”

The rhythm’s slow at first, allowing some semblance of adaptation before increasing the intensity. And you let him hear exactly how you feel. Praises and curses mingle with your gasping breath, turning into groans, then shouts until he has you cumming with his name tearing from your throat in a wild scream as you plunge into the darkness of the abyss to drown in ecstasy. Every muscle seizes in your body, leaving it to Loki to hold you in position…and he does as he rams into you haphazardly before reaching his own peak and unloading like an icy flood inside you, stealing the last air from your lungs.

He doesn’t bother with pulling out, rather he tips the both of you, tugging you tightly to his chest as his form reverts to normal. Gasping for air, none of you speak.

Eventually, though, the peaceful silence ends, and Loki abandons you in the bed in favour of cleaning up and getting dressed the same way as when first you’d had sex. Pausing by the door, he looks back. _It’s almost a déjà vu._

“I trust we will see each other again, my pet?” The lazy smile negates the questioning tone.


	3. Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three prompts/items this time were: Purple, Modern Art, and "Crazy" by Gnarles Barkley (used passages boldened).

The next day, you’d been sore. Cold into the bones in a way that no hot showers or mugs of tea could purge because it wasn’t just physical. The “visit” and events at Loki’s manor had been bad enough. You hadn’t needed him showing up in your room, your home, only for you to _want_ him so shamelessly as you had to the point where you’d begged for him without a care of what might happen. But in the harsh light of day, it scared you shitless how easily you’d given in.

**I remember, I remember when I lost my mind  
There was something so pleasant about that place**

That’s when you made the decision.

Taking the pendant, you’d placed it in a box with a note telling him you didn’t want to play his games. It had smarted when you slid the lid on, hiding the gleaming eye from view to be wrapped up in brown paper, tape, and a hastily scribbled address. The same day you sent it, you sold the little apartment and took refuge in the safehouse where you hopefully could plot your next steps in safety.

Hopefully.

It was tempting to keep running until you’d reached the other side of the earth where no one would know you and you could start over, pretending to be someone else. But each time you considered the idea, the chill would stir in your bones, reminding you just how quickly he’d found you. No. It wouldn’t help to run, because how could you hide from a magic-wielding extra-terrestrial? Even across the ocean, it’d just be a matter of time before he’d find you if that’s what he wanted…and you’d have no way to stand your ground. Whenever you got to this point in your internal ramblings, you’d hear his voice seething with anger at the idea that he might take you against your will. Oddly…you believed that, at least. Maybe it was the memory of the blow sending you skidding across the gleaming floor in his home?

That hadn’t been his magic. Watching yourself in the mirror, the decision made itself for you, and over the next days you snuck out to pick up the equipment you needed, making sure to stay away from your usual haunts.

You spend months staying indoors as much as possible, the time used on online studies and all the training you could accomplish within the safety of the walls of your home. And why not? The last few jobs had lined the coffers plenty and you had no interest in drawing attention to yourself or your hiding hole.

So the instructional videos kept rolling as you mimicked the movements and stances, soon discarding the padding on the dummies and the gloves because you knew none of the pretence would steel you for the real deal. Hands and wrists bruised after the thousands of impacts with the hard material, your ankles had twisted on more than one occasion, adding a limp to your normally cat-like movements.

…

A person can only stay cooped up due to external influences for so long before they begin to feel a prisoner in their own home. Pacing the concrete floors, there’s no joy to find in the sheltered place because you need to breathe freely again, need to navigate the bustle of the city and be a part of it rather than simply watching from the outside. And you need a challenge. Money’s not run out yet, but it’s getting closer which tempts you to pick your old contacts for a connection. A job that entails more than just making a plan based on information other people have provided that they too will be the ones to pull off. And of course the perfect temptation’s waiting for you…there’s just one hiccup…

**And I hope that you are having the time of your life**  
**But think twice**  
**That’s my only advice**

…

Gliding through the crowd like liquid purple, it takes little effort to make it to the place in the gallery where the object’s hanging. _Art, fart._ The artist is more than famous throughout the world, but most of his works contain less meaning than the concrete of the building…although you find the huge legume-seed childishly entertaining with the warped reflections. These installations? Huge discs with various colours, sculptures any Freudian psychologists would celebrate, and splashes of bloodred on shredded and pulled canvasses that makes you think of hospitals and pain. You can’t help the scoff that escapes you.

“Not to your liking?” The smooth voice curls around you like a snake.

There’s no reason to look for the speaker because only one person is capable of scaring and arousing you with a simple sentence. _Not this time._ Without an answer, you leave Loki standing before the black void of a concave, the rustle of the silk dress soothing your nerves only slightly.

You’ve seen what you need to formulate a plan, shocked at the lax in security at the private gallery where works regularly are auctioned off to the rich crowd, the ones who always are eager to seem like they live the perfect life when in reality theirs suck just as badly as anyone else’s… _it’s just nicer to cry in an Aston Martin._ With a notoriety like that, it isn’t a surprise that Loki’s around even though you’d hoped to be lucky because modern art isn’t anywhere to be seen in his collection.

He corners you at the wardrobe, of course. Why had you decided to check in your coat? Right, you weren’t allowed to carry it with you…maybe they thought people would sneak out a one and-a-half meter in diameter art installation under the trench coat. Either way, you just have time to consider leaving the piece of clothing behind when the cool of his presence envelops you, sweetly familiar yet frighteningly so.

“[Y/N]…”

There’s a pained edge to his voice that makes the air stick in your throat and your hands shake when you accept the coat from the attendant who’s blissfully unaware of the severity of the situation. Just a few words, a plea for help, and you’d be safe from the Asgardian. _For a while._ The admission carries dread, drenching you in silent resignation from its wake. _Not giving in, though,_ and you pull the coat on before turning, striding past the tall man who’s dressed in his signature black and green.

Cold air fills your lungs and shimmies up your bare legs. Already, a cab’s waiting by the curb hoping for a fare and maybe a fat tip considering the visitors to the gallery behind you. Voicelessly, you slip in, collecting the purple fabric before closing the door. Only then do you urge him to drive, the destiny’s a fancy hotel.

As the engine rumbles, propelling the car onto the road and through the checkered pattern of the city while you see absolutely nothing of the scenery, too engulfed in your thoughts. You’re supposed to be plotting now, conjuring up the elegant plans ensuring you not just access to, but also an exit route with, the prize that will land you a fat paycheck…still, the task is jarring as every thought is disrupted by the echo of Loki’s voice and the haunting glimpse you’d seen of his face.

_Not my bloody problem!_ Groaning silently, your head lolls onto the headrest beside yours. So what, if the man’s looking haggard? An obsession burning in his eyes that’s nearly drowned out by a pain you don’t want to recognize because if you do, you’ll know how badly off you are too. _Fuck._ Everything would’ve been simpler if you’d never decided to rob the God of Mischief, but here you are and it was only your logic telling you to run.

_Here we are._

_Here we are?_

Sitting up straight, you study the world outside the cab with big eyes, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists in your lap. You aren’t on the way to the hotel, you’re not even anywhere near the neighbourhood you’d planned for but rather in an area with rich brick houses spread wide enough to hide on lawns surrounded by bushes and trees, the only official access points being the gated driveways. Just as you reach for the door handle, the car bumps over the softened curb and pushes a puff of stale air past your trembling lips, but the door’s locked and the driver ignores your frantic pleas when you urge him to let you out, to let you go. Anything but bringing you to Loki’s manor looming ahead in the dark.

Your struggle continues when the car door finally opens to allow a couple of burly private guards to reach for you. Fuck, are you happy you’ve spent all that time training martial arts and self defense…but in the end, there’s nothing you can do against these bundles of muscle and you’re dragged through the house up to the top floor where you’re deposited in a bedroom.

**Ever since I was little it looked like fun**  
**And it's no coincidence I've come**  
**And I can die when I'm done**

Dishevelled and afraid, you scream yourself hoarse while pounding at the door, only interrupted when you try to unlock windows with the few tools you’d snug along in the purse, but nothing helps, and you sink onto the blackness on the giant bed. _No tears._ Fighting back the desperation, you take in the surroundings, noting the wall-to-wall wardrobe covered in mirrors which makes the room seem grander than it is. Not that it needs extra square meters added to the endless moss-green carpet that’s the resting place for furniture of honeyed wood and leather. Pillows of the signature green silk are tastefully tossed onto a low, soft bench by the window and next to you on the bed, echoing the shade across the floor. There’s another door, nearly invisibly carved into the wall, which brings a shimmer of hope back into your heart only to be smothered when all it turns out to be is a private bathroom.

…

You’ve gone through every nook and cranny the two rooms in search of a way to get out. After that, you’ve spent some time simply nosing about to learn more about the god before eventually taking care of your appearance. The way you see it, you might as well appear on top on the situation if you’re going to have to talk yourself out of this mess…if Loki can be reasoned with, that is.

Regardless, your heart lodges itself in your throat at the sound of a key in the lock. Refusing to turn, there’s only the warped reflection in the window to prove that it really is him, your captor, that enters and relocks the door, adding a golden shimmer to the mechanism with a wave of his hand. Not a word’s uttered as he discards the suit jacket and then the tie onto a chair by the wardrobe.

The heavy sigh rattles you to your core. “I’m sorry for this, [Y/N].” Glancing briefly, you see how he runs a hand over his face, rubbing the tired eyes momentarily. “I can only imagine what you must think of me, truly…but I need you to hear me out, alright?”

It’s not like you have a choice, really, and this conversation has started nothing like you’d expected. “Then talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry 'bout that cliffhanger... 
> 
>  
> 
> (Okay, maybe not, but pls don't hate me)


	4. Holding the Devil's Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts this time: Blue, floor, "Foreigner’s God" by Hozier (used passages boldened). A very lemony ending in this one.
> 
> Previous chapter ended with Loki having kidnapped [Y/N] in order for him to get her to listen.

Waiting impatiently for the worst too happen, it surprised you when you realize he’s sitting down on the floor as far away from you as possible. There are other options for him to sit comfortably, still he’s chosen the least threatening option. _It’s on purpose…trying to make me at ease. Drop my guard._ Regardless the reasoning behind it, however, the silence still hangs heavy in the air, threatening to explode if neither of you say anything.

**Her eyes look sharp and steady**  
**Into the empty parts of me**  


“I’m not good at these sort of things…apologies.” Stalling already with a sigh, Loki settles down more comfortably in the corner by the door. “I realize that…nothing I say can make it up to you…” You can feel his eyes on your back and it paralyses you, afraid what might set him off. “I…I’m prone to think very highly of myself and my skills as the God of Mischief and Chaos. Finding that I had been tricked and by a _Midgardian_ girl no less?” He snorts in disbelief at his own words, releasing a hot prickle of anger in your chest. “I was intrigued. Amused more than offended…”

You grab the chance as he trails off. “So far you’ve said _nothing_ that warrants fucking _kidnapping me_! Either get to it or let me go now!”

“Easy, tiger,” the god smirks, “my point is…your skills, personality… _you_ …I see potential. The few testes I arranged proved that you’re exactly the partner in crime I need for a very delicate…challenge. I’ve been spending almost every waking hour since we parted to try to find you in the hopes of…convincing you to return so I could explain myself and extend an offer I think would be mutually beneficial,” Loki’s voice lowers to a purr, “because you can’t deny that we’re good together. Although…complementing each others’ baser instinct was a bonus which I thought you had no problem with until the…misunderstanding we –“

“ _Misunderstanding_?” Spinning to face him, all the fear’s been flushed away by anger-fueled adrenaline and you can feel the nails dig into your palms to keep your hands from shaking. Anger at him. And anger at the heat in your core at the memories he awakens. “ _Misunderstanding!?_ Are you fuckin’ serious right now??!! You hit me _so hard_ that I landed at the other side of the _bloody room!_ ”

He’s on his feet quicker than you can fathom and you jerk backwards until you collide with the bench by the window, sending you hard on your ass. The fearful retreat stops him short. Burning indignation reigned in in the same way he returns to the far side although he stays standing.

“What you accused me of being willing to do…” Loki’s voice’s shaking with anger although he tries to hold it back, “people may _never_ think of me as _good_ , but I have a code if you will. Some things that I’ll never lower myself to.”

“H-how should I…” The words are hardly getting across your lips as you stutter meekly along, so you try again. “Ho-ow should I know that?” It’s hardly a victory to finish a sentence, but this time it feels as though you’ve accomplished something grand, the little thrill enabling you to continue. “Prone, held at knifepoint by a guy who was accused of all sorts of shit. And _not_ just here on earth.”

You know from experience how good Loki’s at using his tongue, but words don’t come easy as he opens and closes the pretty mouth of his until eventually, he stops trying and withdraws into himself. Once more, the only sounds is the faint buzz from the lamps and a gurgle in the waterpipes hidden behind the rich wallpaper. Rubbing the back of your legs where you’d slammed them against the seat, you assure yourself that not even a bruise will hint at your clumsiness.

The sound of a lock makes you look up to see Loki opening the door and stepping well out of the way, granting a clear path out of his bedroom. He doesn’t look at you, so you doubt your ears when he tells you that you are free to go.

Hesitantly at first, you tread across the soft carpet, each step bringing you close to freedom yet also fanning a doubt in your mind. Five steps to the door, Loki’s standing still in front of the mirror by the dresser. Four steps, you ignore the frown and glistening trail on his cheek. Two steps, and your legs are slowing, body fighting against the logic that urges you to hurry out and down the stairs, whishing no one will stop you. One step, and a memory presents itself, uncalled for at an inopportune moment which causes even your logic to hesitate. In the doorway itself, you come to a halt.

**She feels no control of her body**  
**She feels no safety in my arms**

“What was it?” _Don’t hear the quiver of my voice, please._

You can see the staircase from where you stand, the broad steps granting a glimpse to the hall below.

“What was what?” Loki answers flatly.

“What was the reason the charges were dropped? About your role in New York?”

Everyone had been stunned when the news leaked, and it had been the rage in the media and online where the most absurd conspiracy theories went unchecked because really, what arguments were there anymore now that it was a fact that aliens existed?

“It’s of no consequence.” Arms cross over his chest, defiant and protectively. “Just leave. Forget about this. I will not bother you anymore.”

_Dimwitted, emo-loving freak,_ your logic begins a rant to get you from doing exactly what you end up with anyways. A few steps back, while cussing yourself to Antarctica and back, brings the reflection of the god’s face back in view. Pale and hard. A hand nimbly swipes a wet shimmer away before it reaches the sharp jaw. _Don’t fucking do it. It’s a trap. He’s a trickster. A liar._ The sharp sting from the teeth sinking into your lower lip shuts up the inner monologue for a moment, allowing you to breathe deeply and way the risks.

**All that I've been taught**  
**And every word I've got**  
**Is foreign to me**

“You’d never given me a reason to actually…fear you…despite your majorly creepy stunts of breaking in to my place and shit…” The exhale comes as a puff, that stirs the fine particles dancing in the air between the open door and you. “The rules of our…game...thing…they were never clear, but you…you…uhm…” Struggling to put the chaotic thoughts into words, you know that you’re trying to convince yourself more than him and you hate yourself for it. “You’d not done anything I didn’t want be-before I accused you of wanting to…y’know…and you hadn’t even hinted that that was something…”

Loki has gone completely still, barely even breathing as he listens to the mumbled mess, but you’re at a loss at what you actually want to accomplish. _Comfort him?_ He’d hurt you physically. Scared you. But if anyone had said something similar to you, wouldn’t you have lost your temper? Difference is, of course, that you don’t have the strength to literally knock someone through a wall.

“Gimme _one_ good reason to trust y’again.” The harshness you’d tried to summon is inaudible, reducing your order to a plea.

“Not that.”

Staying quiet, you absentmindedly try to rub some warmth into your arms as you wait for the man to quit being stubborn. It’s going to be a long wait, but now that the door’s open you aren’t in as bad a rush as before.

“There’s an item which I greatly desire, but it’s of dire importance tha–“

“You can take the item and shove it unless you don’t answer my question,” your voice cracks like a whip, silencing Loki quite efficiently and you notice how the god’s body tenses.

A rustle accompanies the stubborn, no, haughty answer. “I told those who need to know about…the background for New York.”

“Then there’s no more to talk about.”

You’re in the hallway, when he calls out for you, broken and beaten by his own demons. _I should continue._ Already, your feet are rooted on the polished wood. _I should leave._ Soft footsteps are drawing near, urging you to run rather than turn to face the man the way you actually do, watching his cautionary movements and the tremble of his hands, feeling the cold roll over you once more. _This is a trick._ Eyes meet and you have no doubt that the pain he’s exhibiting is real.

“Tell me what happened.” It’s a soft murmur, spoken into his raven hair as you awkwardly pat his back.

It takes a minute or two before he straightens up, freeing you shoulder from the weight of his chilly head but taking your hands instead to tug you gently with him back into the room.

The door closes softly behind you, no click of the lock this time at least, as Loki silently offers the bed as a seat for you. You accept hesitantly, afraid of how long or short a time is left before the trap’s sprung. A trap you’ve walked into freely this time. Thankfully, he leans against the wall by the bathroom door with his head hung low as you fidget with the hem of the purple silk, trying to find some way to soothe your nerves. _Can I take the cover?_ The air’s freezing.

“If you ever tell anyone about this…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to, really, mostly because even in your world there are some things that are sacred. _He’s not the only one with a code._ And then he begins talking about event long passed, about wrongs he had done of his own free will where not even the despair he’d felt was an excuse and no promises from neither him nor his family could right the many wrongs that had been committed. It had let to his fall. Literally and figuratively.

Then the tale takes a turn for the worse. To a darkness where words fail along with the god’s human appearance. As Loki talks about torture and pain beyond any you’ve experienced, his real form breaks free as if trying to protect him from the memories. Red eyes blur and burn in stark contrast to the ice that form around him, creeping towards you. And still you inch closer to him, to hear the words that are whispered hoarsely and to tentatively extend a quivering hand, placing it on his dark-clawed fingers.  Squeezing as he whispers the name of a Titan.

**Screaming the name**  
**Of a foreigner's God**  
**The purest expression of grief**

 

“I don’t want your pity,” he growls, trying to shake off the hand.

_I know._ “Good. ‘Cause you’re not getting it.” You manage to contain the sigh. “You’re still a fucking lunatic, but at least I know why…I can work with this…”

“You can…?” Eyes like blood scorch your skin.

_Yeah, it’s not smart of me, though._ “Gonna clear up some things if it’s gonna work…and you’ve got a _shitload_ of sucking up ‘fore I forgive you for bashing me ‘cross the room.”

The reaction’s immediate, perfect proof that you’ve chosen the wrong words. A low frequency makes the air hum, and the face folds into that of a predator that’s both hungry and amused because it knows where to find the next meal without putting any real effort into it. Catching your wrist before you can pull your hand back, so you tug hard, pulling Loki’s on his knees before you as you scuttle back along the wide bed. Raven hair partially obscuring the smirk curling his lips, falling away grant a view of the shoulder blades oscillating under the thin, white shirt that’s stretching tight over the wider-than-normal body.

“How convenient.” The lip that darts out have an effect on more than just Loki’s lips. “I’ll do more than just…suck…up.”

Pressed up against the headboard, your only escape would be off the other side of the bed, but of course you don’t go for it because you’re a fool with no backbone to resist the silver-tongued god even now. That’s why you let him grab your ankles and pull you slowly to the edge of the bed, kissing each inch of skin as it gets within reach all the while he bunches up the thin fabric of your dress until his lips ghost across the very top of your inner thigh. A cold nose brush the soft lace as he switches attention from one side to the other, almost distracting you from the fingers that are wandering past your hips and across the expanse of you belly, straining the fabric and setting off shivers that have nothing to do with the cold of the room.

There’s a warm shimmer, a sign that you know very well already, exposing more of your body and granting Loki a chance to slither the exploring hand further until it skims the valley between the breasts to trace the delicate lace that does absolutely nothing to hide the perking nipples. Teasing and pinching them through the bra ads a lovely contrast to the feathery kisses and licks below the waist until you’re breathing raggedly, chasing Loki’s mouth with your still covered cunt.

Wide strokes of blue palms towards your hips send new waves of anticipation rushing along, and you can feel how slick your core is becoming even though the god hasn’t even touched you there. The moment his fingers hook on the panties, you can’t help but hold your breath. Glancing down between your legs to see delight warming the features decorated with lines…lines that you know from experience are practically everywhere on his body. But the green eyes are trained on the reveal happening before him as, inch by inch, your pussy’s bared.

“So beautiful.”  The words are carried on cold breath but hold more warmth and adoration than anyone else has ever shown for your body. “Perfect…and eager.”

You know somehow that you moan the moment his mouth finds your folds and begins to tease, driving you to writhing and whimpering to the precipice of release all while Loki’s kneeling on the floor between your feet. Each moan from your lips makes him hum with pleasure, sending vibrations into your core in a way that shouldn’t be possible. Every gasp and panting breath from your lungs causes him to suck greedily at your clit.

Somewhere in the process, you realize as Loki spreads your legs further, he’s removed your panties completely, but a particular strong lick that curls his tip of his tongue inside you chases any coherent thoughts away. Then you feel his fingers pushing and wiggling against the fluttering walls of your pussy, finding the g-spot and running over it again and again in slow pumps matching the pace of his lips. Teeth nibbling and tugging in a masterful feat of balance between pleasure and pain.

“Let me hear you…then I’ll let you cum.” Even when talking, Loki doesn’t let up but applies a thumb deftly to your clit. “Say my name.”

In the foggy storm of you mind, the words annoy you. _That wasn’t the deal._ It’s a struggle to get as far as to rest on your elbows because each movement requires coordinated use of your muscles that are trembling due to Loki’s ministrations. Finally in place, you catch his hooded, red eyes.

“N-no-o.” Your answer makes him slow down, but not stop. “You’ve no…right…to demand anything.”

You’re gasping for breath and in no condition to assert any imagined power, but pure stubbornness fuels you even as the man arches an eyebrow at you in disbelief. Lazy circles around the nerve bundle keeps you on edge, fingers slide effortlessly through the tight wetness in a way that sweep your g-spot gently.

“My dear, I believe you’re right…I did give my word.”

The low growl should have been warning enough in it’s own, but you’re too tightly wrapped in the ecstasy his adept handling has you stewing in to notice how his arms wrap around your thighs. All you know is that the world seems to shift around you sending you off the edge of the bed and impaling you swiftly around the ridged cock. All air leaves you in a warbled moan as the sudden intrusion topples you over the edge, back arching so you shoulders rest on the mattress, holding you partially in place like a safety in case your grip on Loki’s shoulders should fail. Even then, he’s got your hips in a bruising grip, lifting and lowering you effortlessly at a reckless pace without any risk of you slipping away.

Your core is spasming, sending thundering waves of heat each time the icy shaft bottoms out, ridges passing the sensitive spot each time. Sharp keens spur the god to rut into you wilder, practically shoving you back onto the bed as he leans over you to taste your skin. Lavish kisses and love bites soak up the pearls of sweat and he sucks greedily at your neck, you breasts, your mouth. The two of you share breaths through the superficial pantings, causing you to slowly black out from the mix of restricted air and the continuous orgasm burning through your body.

A cold thumb presses against your clit, rubbing tiny circles simultaneously bringing you even higher than you thought possible as Loki succumbs to bliss, your name woven into the shameless moan fanning your throat an instant before his leaves your lips as a ragged, breathy scream.

**Screaming the name**  
**Of a foreigner's God**  


…

Wrapped in Loki’s (now pale) arms, your thought are barely coherent enough to wonder if it’s a good idea to linger. He’s taken care of you gently and sweeter than you thought possible from someone like him. _Who am I kidding…there’s no one like him!_ Those are your last thoughts as sleep claims you.


	5. Bright Light of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time the 3 prompts were: a bathrobe, a weapon (but not a firearm), and the song "Waiting Game" by Banks (as usual the used passages are in bold)

It’s the bed that wakes you. Stretching lazily, the hazy semi-sleep caresses you gently with the softness of silken sheets and pillows, you suddenly stop mid-yawn at the realization that this bed isn’t yours. The smooth sheets are a far cry from the coarse linen you should be tangled in. Peeping out from under the eyelashes, you take in the lavish decoration of the master bedroom that looks so different now the soft morning light is filtering through a slit between the curtains. And even so, your roaming eyes barely register what they see, instead noting what’s no there. Who’s not there. Pushing the duvet aside, it’s a surprise how gently the air greets your naked form, the cold bite from the night gone. _It wasn’t the night._

Without Loki around, there’s no one to ask where your clothes have gone to, and you spend a good five minutes searching before giving up. _Better make the most of it,_ a snarky voice urges you as you push the door open to a bathroom that could be heaven on earth.

 **The way you make me feel all sexy but it's causing me shame  
**…

Tiptoeing through the house, you let your nose guide you with the promise of breakfast and coffee. There are no fluctuations in the temperature, yet the soft bathrobe is pulled tight around your form as if it could lend some sort of protection, shield you from judgement in case someone’s around and guesses what has happened.

You’d expected some maid or similar to be busy in the kitchen, not Loki casually stirring the contents of a frying pan while nose-deep in a newspaper. The sight immobilizes you as the caffeine-lacking brain tries to catch up with the image of a domestic god.

“There’s a fresh bowl of fruits waiting for you,” he offers without looking up, “and fresh coffee.”

The words hang in the air for a beat longer than necessary before you react, face warm with the realization that even someone as different as Loki would have a daily routine. A pattern of habits and basic needs. And right now, you’re intruding on that.

“Uhm…thank you.”

Looking further than the perfectly dressed man, you spot a bar-like table extending the granite into an L-shape lined at the bottom by swivelling bar seats, in front one of which there’s a neat arrangement of bowl, glass, cup, cutlery…everything possibly needed for a breakfast. You make sure to tug the bathrobe around your legs, not wanting to accidentally reveal your nudity even though Loki already must be aware. Clothes don’t grow legs and leave on their own.

“I’ve had your clothes send to the dry cleaner.” The crinkle of the thin paper warns that his reading material has been discarded. “Also took the liberty of getting you something more fitting to wear for your trip home.”

You’ve already wrapped your fingers around the mug of steaming, liquid energy. “Where’s it?”

“Not here yet.”

This time the voice is much closer, making you look up into the calculative eyes, almost missing the plate full of pancakes and the bottle of real maple syrup. Next moment he’s striding away to refill his own coffee cup, dumping you into a silence that you’re stubbornly set on not breaking as if it’s some sort of competition. Like a staring game, but here the urge’s to say something.

So you eat, savouring the exotic fruits that seep with sweet tastiness contrasting the roasted bitterness of the hot drink. And while you enjoy the tantalizing meal, Loki simply stands there at the other end of the kitchen, watching in silence. Only a flicker of a smile ghosting his face when you bite into a pancake, sending a sticky drop of syrup astray on your lips.

“Why aren’t _you_ eatin’?” You point nonchalantly at him with a piece of mango on the tip of the fork. _Silver fork._

“I already have.” Innocent words unless the darkened gaze is taken into account.

**Don't tell me listen to your song because it isn't the same**

…

He lets you finish, even clears away the mess without allowing you to help. _What does he want from me?_ You’re about to ask when the sound of a door opening and closing can be heard followed by steps that only are silent because of training. You listen as the steps fade upstairs, then return to the very same door you entered the kitchen through…but no one opens.

“Master, the clothes have been laid out on your bed as requested.” It’s hard to judge the age of the woman speaking. “Is there anything else?”

“No, Matilde, that’s all for now,” Loki answers smoothly, “you may be excused for the day.”

Neither you nor the god moves until it’s evident that the maid has left. Then you slide off the tall seat, fully intend on going to get dressed because that must’ve been the clothes they were talking about, and if not…well almost anything’s better than wearing Loki’s own bathrobe much longer.

“Thank you for breakfast,” you manage to say before turning away from his intense gaze.

“[Y/N]…there’s something we must discuss…” Like cold water would, his words sends a ripple of goosebumps down your back. “The profit could be considerable for you.”

You don’t want to be further indebted to him, already painfully aware of how much of your life rests in his hands, but the entire reason that you ended up in this house and staying until morning is because he wanted it that way. _He’s used to getting what he wants._ Turning back with a sigh, you grab the cup and hold it out to him because you’ll be damned if you’re not having all the free coffee you can get if he’s going to talk you into some ridiculous scheme. Not that you’re interested, of course…at least that what you keep reminding yourself as you settle against the hard countertop, feet crossed at the ankles and nose inches from the warm brew.

“I’ve been challenged to obtain an artefact beyond any of the miserable trinkets from your world,” Loki smirks, “in fact…it’s _so_ rare there’s only _one_ in the entirety of the cosmos…but as luck will have it...” the smile broadens, “I know where to find it.”

“Just cut to the chase!”

He does, though not without a huff of annoyance, and starts out with the convoluted ancestral background of a being called Luɣ. Not unlike the Asgardians, this being and its kin (Thuäthan Dae) would roam through space to seek adventure or expand their empire, and they were so good at it that rumours of their riches spread and fostered alliances which ultimately led to the Thuäthan Dae’s downfall. During the following eons, the survivors scattered and got assimilated into other races, but some of the legends still exist…including that of a nifty spear capable of reacting to verbal commands of the owner.

At this point in life, you’ve come to accept that perhaps there’s more to old mythological tales than people once did believe, all things considered. Glancing skeptically at Loki’s hands, you wonder if there’s more he hasn’t told you yet about himself which would be relevant to know before getting intrigued in an alien-made weapon.

**Baby I'm thinking it over**  
**What if the way we started made it something cursed from the start**

Large hands weave elegantly through the air as the god describes artefacts that already have been recovered…and…and…lost in memories of the acts of colour changing limbs, it’s as if you can feel the touch upon your skin, sending shivers through your already heating body, and shifting focus away does nothing to help you because the next you see are the narrow hips wrapped in subtle leather. _Oh fuck._ Yeah, the leather doesn’t hide the proportions of the man, and a new shiver races towards your cunt.

There’s only one thing for it and that’s to avert your eyes by pretending to drink from the already empty mug. Of course, Loki’s still talking, so you take your time trying to coax the very last drops across the ceramic surface and almost succeed before a golden shimmer leaves you emptyhanded.

“You’re not listening.” A cool finger under your chin forces [Y/E/C] and green eyes to meet. “Tell me…what _were_ you thinking of?” No words escape your mouth despite several attempts that only results in Loki smirking. “It’s alright, my pet,” he purrs, head dipping so close the nose tips meet for a fraction of a second, “I can sense your…excitement.”

The only logical response is to protest, but you don’t really want to and even if you did then you couldn’t because his lips are on yours. Sweetly. Softly. The taste of minty toothpaste lingers under notes of coffee when he opens his mouth for you, waking up your senses after they’ve been doused in the sweetness from the breakfast. A perfect contrast coaxing a humming from your throat, and you can feel Loki’s crooked smile on your skin even before his hands runs down your waist, hips, grabbing under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly onto the stone tabletop.

It’s a simple nudge by the god’s hips that has you parting your legs for him to stand between, mouths and tongues still dancing and your fingers flexing against his chest because damn-it, you want what he can give you. The all-consuming rush rolling through your body from the best orgasms you’ve ever experienced. It’s addictive, and frighteningly so, especially because this man has more power over you than good is. _I shouldn’t…shit!_ Deft hands are already pushing the front of the bathrobe aside and fondling your breast, tugging at a nipple with an expertise that makes your back arch and you know how wet your cunt already is.

“Stop.” Faster than you thought possible, you’ve caught Loki’s wrists tightly. “Stop…I can’t…”

It feels as though the temperature drops ten degrees, and you can’t bear to meet the god’s gaze. _Shit, shit, shiiiiit._ Fear’s lodged in your throat like bile, making you queasy and preventing you from breathing as freely as you want…but it’s okay because filling your lungs would cause your chest to move and you don’t want his attention there. _Well…I do…sort of._ It’s a messed-up situation that would have been plenty awkward on its own but with him –

“Why not, my pet?” At least he doesn’t try to continue, merely attempts to meet your eyes. “Don’t deny that you desire this.”

“Shut up!” Your exclamation catches you by surprise but it’s Loki’s slight jerk that scares you enough to cower, shielding yourself from whatever the Asgardian might do to hurt you.

Nothing happens. At least not really.

”I see,” he whispers almost sadly.

Each movement’s deliberately slow and obvious as he back away, only turning his back when he’s at the other end of the kitchen, allowing you a sort of privacy to slide off the granite and wrap the bathrobe around your shivering body.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Loki…”

The wide shoulders roll. “Don’t be. I brought this on myself.” His knuckles are white from the grip on the edge of the sink he’s leaning against. “Get dressed. I’ll have my driver ready to bring you home afterwards and you won’t see or hear from me again.”

…

He’s true to he word, the only sign of him being a flat parcel the driver hands you when you reach the place you ask to be dropped off (some random address not far from the subway). You don’t have to look what’s in the box to guess it and the knowledge digs painfully into some part of your heart no matter how hard you try to ignore it.

**Cause lately I've been scared of even thinking 'bout where we are**


	6. My own Ruler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompts I were given this time were: “You Should See Me in a Crown” by Billie Eilish, a bath robe (which I've switched to a kimono), a living room. As usual the used lyrics are boldened.

Routine has returned and with it a sense of numbness that you bask in as long as you don’t happen to come across a certain slim parcel tucked away at the back of the safe. You welcome any chance to focus on work in some manner whether it be working contacts or any phase of a job, as long as your mind stays occupied for hours on end until you’re too exhausted to do anything but collapse in bed.

Bed.

Sleep.

You’ve come to hate the handful of hours you spend in oblivious to the world of the living because each time the comfort of dark nothingness recedes in favour of all too vivid dreams. Colours of turquoise and emerald haunts your nights so regularly that it seems into the days too, bringing an itch to the back of your body but no one’s there when you turn to look.

It might just be in your head, like a sort of paranoia that no drug or therapy can cure your from because you know who you think is watching and no rational doctor has the means to convince you that _He_ doesn’t have the skill or power to keep track of you.

So you do the next best thing you can do. You excel through spite. Each job has to be perfectly planned and executed in case Loki’s watching. Every time you step out the door, you’ve made sure your gear, costume, or even just normal clothes are on point. Nothing’s allowed to give the tiniest hint of the power he holds over you, and there’s the odd day where you almost manage to convince yourself that it’s not pettiness that fuels your every move. Until sleep catches up with you, and you dream of a silky-soft, icy voice that heats every cell in your body. The feeling lingers in the morning until you throw yourself at a project again.

**Visions I vandalize**  
**Cold in my kingdom size**  
**Fell for these ocean eyes**

Working brings relief, but the best part is the high that comes from executing a flawless plan and bring back a prize no one thought really would be possible to get their hands on. It pays well, both in cash and renown, and more than once the celebration escalate, and you find yourself at some party with a drink in one hand and the other shimmying over the body of an eager admirer for the night as your bodies roll and writhe to the music with a too loud bass that makes it impossible to talk.

You have a type, it seems. At least you end up time and time again with tall, slender people whose dark hair fall freely to the shoulders. Thin lips are soft and demanding, but never right, and in the end, you push the wannabe lover aside in frustration at their lack of…of…of being him. Booze helps for a while on those occasions and is often payed for by the pleased customer anyways until the party ends and you head back to the safehouse you’ve made your home.

No matter how convoluted the route home is, the pain and doubt haunt the steps like shadows on the verge of solidifying into nightmares unless you keep the drunken stupor going to stay numb. To keep from feeling or thinking of _why_ it feels so crappy and lonesome.

**Tell me which one is worse**  
**Living or dying first**

…

It’s at a gala event when it happens the first time.

Waiters are passing hors d’euvres and tall glasses of champagne around on golden trays as you hang by the arm of the client who’s hired granted you access in the hopes that you’ll find a way of stealing a kimono from the Heian era which his ex had gotten in the settlement. The object of desire is on loan to the Japanese ambassador and is a part of the Heian collection displayed in the ambassadorial house the next month for special guests to see. Gazing at the treasures, it’s not difficult to understand, why the ambassador wanted to share the splendor in the only way she can.

“Excuse me,” your date whispers before bumbling through the crowd towards a group of people he knows.

On your own, you drift from one glass casing to another containing ancient artefacts of immense historical, cultural, and monetary value, but it’s a seemingly ignored item which you spot in another room that makes you stop despite the distance.

Replacing the empty glass, you bide your time before drifting through the doors and across the plush carpet of the living room, pausing as if to admire a painting which clearly is a replica, before finally reaching the new goal.

You’ve seen them before, although not often, these spears or Yari as they are called. More popular from the 15th century, they trace back centuries (almost a millennium) before, and the one before you just about the oldest you’ve seen. So old it makes you think of legends and myths of times long passed and cultures dissolved and appropriated into the melting pot of universal conformity. _Maybe this spear isn’t even what we think it is._ It’s hard not to doubt history now that it’s official how many races live beyond earth and how often they’ve meddled with the affairs of humans.

_Perhaps a Yari’s like the spear of the Thuäthan Dae?_ It’s silly. That spear’s gone down in Irish folklore. You know that because after Loki had told you, you went home to do what research was possible, hoping to prove that it was some lie. If it had been…well then it would’ve been easier to ignore the pained defeat and self-loathing you’ve convinced yourself that you felt from him that morning.

That’s when you see it. Reflected in the glass of the display is a figure dressed in black which heightens the contrast to his pale skin…but when you turn, he’s gone. _I’m seeing things._ Your heart is hammering against the ribs, your stomach’s heavy with disappointment. The son of a bitch had promised to stay away, and you should be happy if he did, not long for the maniac…at least that’s what you tell yourself while stalking out of the living room and right into the arms of your date.

“There you’re, pretty babe,” he drawls loudly, the smell of something stronger than champagne on his breath.

You’re not oblivious to the sideways glance of furious indignation he sends another man, his ex. Whatever happened between can’t have been pretty, but it burns in your gut to be a tool in this way too. _Just wait…price might just have gone up, ass hole._ But you also notice the slender figure standing motionless in the darkness of a corner, green eyes gleaming with a fire as they notice how the man at your side holds your waist. A quick tongue darts out to wet Loki’s lips in a way you know too well.

**You say**  
**Come over baby**  
**I think you're pretty**  
**I'm okay**  
**I'm not your baby**  
**If you think I'm pretty**

…

Not even four hours later, and you’re carefully placing a duffle bag on the rooftop, knowing full well how carefully the old contents inside have to be handled. You’re not far from the rendezvous, but it’s only fair to send a text from the burner that you’ll require a better paycheck. Leaning back against the metal housing for the ventilation, you stretch your legs out.

“I know you’re around,” the words aren’t as hesitant as you feel, knowing that you might in fact be talking to no one, “don’t think I’ve not noticed you tonight.”

Silence reigns, with the exception of distant cars and a dog barking at the world. Then there’s a slight crunch of footsteps prior to a new shadow on the moonlit surface.

“I had no intention of spying on you tonight.”

“Then why’re y’here _now_?” You see the shadow flinch at your words. “It makes sense at th’event itself…but not now.”

Out of the corner of the eye, Loki becomes visible as he sits down on the edge of the roof. “Didn’t care much for the way your…date held you.”

“Too bad.”

“You don’t understand! I _know_ this man!” The temperature drops at the god’s frustration increases. “He’s _not_ the kind that pays the agreed price, and you would be _lucky_ to walk away alive!”

“I survived you, didn’t I?”

You know it’s a low blow, so the pling from the cell phone is a convenient rescue that allows you from ignoring Loki’s silent protests even as you get up to leave with your head held high and oozing confidence. Only when you’re out of sight do you sneak the stun-gun into your sleeve…just in case.

**You should see me in a crown**  
**Your silence is my favorite sound**  
**Watch me make 'em bow**


	7. Broken Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: “Into the Night” by Mattis, an alley, a spray.

Loki's PoV:

There’s a magnetic attraction between certain types of people and a point far across an invisible line that shouldn’t be crossed. As God of Mischief, Loki was all too familiar with the sensation of the forbidden tempting him if for no other reason that simply because everyone were telling him “no”. Oh, how he loved eating the forbidden fruit, lazily perched on another man’s throne if possibly - all for the thrill of doing what couldn’t or shouldn’t be done. And he felt no shame in it.

Until recently.

He had promised to stay away, to keep out of [Y/N]’s life while half expecting her to return because they really were cut of the same cloth. But as time passed, he found that only the most taxing activities were enough to block the memory for a while until some unexpected smell or sound would bring forth the crushing emptiness the woman had left behind. It had never been his intention, becoming so enraptured, needing her the way some mortals of this world required drink.

Much less had he planned on following her one evening as he accidentally saw her leave a house in a company of people whom the god immediately distrusted. Stepping from shadow to shadow, the internal debated never once gave him respite from the nagging guilt [Y/N] had introduced him to.

**There’s no heartbreak and pain**  
**Till I hear your name**

The group she was with an entered a club, fancy by Midgardian standards, with complete disregard to the row of guests waiting in line. Loki could do the same if he wanted…yet he chose to access the place from a back door although it cost him some of those paper token that went for money in this realm. In return he was granted access to a rickety system of gangways above the seething pit of people dancing to the heavy music.

Lost in a world of depravity, the woman whose face haunted his dreams threw herself into the arms of anyone. No. Not anyone. With hazy eyes and unsteady hands, [Y/N] would select whomever she saw fitting and give herself to them while Loki could do nothing but watch from afar. Not for lack of wanting. He’d give anything to be the one holding this particular tight against his body to feel the heat of her curves. He’d chase off anyone else who dared touch her or even looked at her wrong.

But he couldn’t.

One last look, and he returned to the alley outside where the bass was a distant thrumming in the concrete and the air cool on his skin. There he waited, promising himself that it would be the only and last time he’d follow you home. Just for your own safety…it was because of your state…not because – the lies were bitter on his tongue.

**As the world just hums what I know**  
**Of the fear and pain that I chose**

…

This time’s different from all the other times Loki has followed [Y/N] at a distance, never intervening in any way although taking steps to ensure that you were taken care of, watched over. If not by Loki himself then by someone else.

But he’s surprised to see her walk through the ambassadorial residence with an arm snaked neatly onto that of a man. The assessment is quick as Loki lets his gaze analyze the other male: used to riches, pretending to be drunk, focus elsewhere and fueled by anger. The stranger is lithe and probably strong by Midgardian standards, but would be no match for Loki.

_I recognize him._ It’s the gait that stirs a memory, making the god’s sharp eyes fly to the hand of [Y/N]’s company in search of a scar, faded and thin but still visible as thin lines in a distinct pattern that speaks of a past where the line has been crossed and the perpetrator caught. This rich man isn’t as innocent as the other guests although he certainly plays the part well as a date when in reality, he must be nothing more than a client granting her access in return of her expertise.

It explains [Y/N] behaviour, nonchalantly floating from one rare item exhibited in glass to the other while no one notices the cunning glances to acquaint herself with access points and surveillance. For a moment, Loki almost forgets himself as he watches the professionalism which only would be detectable to those who knew exactly what to look for, and in that short instant he lets his guard down, forgets to stay back until the reflection of her [Y/E/C] bores into him.

**There’s a battle in my bones**  
**When I see your face**  
**Like an apple of Eden**  
**I can almost taste**  


It’s the timing of her accompanying client that saves Loki from discovery right there and then, although it turns out to be a temporary salvation. Next time their eyes meet, there’s no glass shielding him from the pain and blame shining towards him.

How easy it could be to imagine the flush isn’t from anger. That the lips are painted deep red in his honour rather than the scum who’s leading her on with a hand on [Y/N]’s lower back, oblivious to the dismay that flickers across her face for a heartbeat before she manages to snake herself free to divert the route towards a vase, granting Loki a chance to leave the event…though never straying far.

…

“I _know_ this man!” Loki’s itching to stride right up to the stubborn woman, but the simple fact that he had sought you out despite the promise places him in a bad position. “He’s _not_ the kind that pays the agreed price, and you would be _lucky_ to walk away alive!”

“I survived _you_ , didn’t I?” The words are sharp.

All air leaves Loki’s body and he physically recoils at the painful memories that brings the shame of his actions back. Not just the many times he’s haunted your steps, but the one time he broke any trust there had been in this wretched relationship. _I cannot let her walk into a trap._ Looking up, the words are already forming on his lips, but [Y/N]’s no longer on the rooftop.

…

It takes too long to find her again, the dark car parked in the shadow seemingly absorbing all light through the matte polish. It’s the click of the booth that makes Loki halt in his mad scramble from rooftop to rooftop. A brief handshake is exchanged, and maybe all’s well after all because the client signals to one of his lackeys to present something. Watching the woman turn her back and the opportunistic client raise his arms is enough warning for Loki.

The drop to the car’s roof is short and the echo of the impact still reverberates in the alley by the time Loki’s dagger slices through a scarred hand holding a gun. The next blade disappears into a tattooed neck without a sound, allowing for a strange hiss to be heard behind the god. It doesn’t matter what the lackey’s holding because nothing could have shielded the goon from the knife that craves a new victim.

Only then does Loki have a chance to scrutinize whatever injuries [Y/N] may or may not have sustained, and his blood freezes at the sight of bulging eyes and greenish foam at the lips. A croaking sound is all that escapes her as the knees buckle beneath her, and he barely manages to surge forward and catch the collapsing body.

“I got you…”

But the surge of magic he sends through her body does little to ease whatever is killing her. If Loki had had the time then he might have beaten himself up for not bothering to learn much about healing energy, but the little he does know of poisons and Midgardian physiology is spurring him into a mad dash. Somehow cradling the heaving body while digging out one of those communication devices of the realm. Words are exchanged (mostly one-way), and the god somehow manages to pick up the pace, hurtling down semi-deserted sidewalks.

[Y/N] has started convulsing in his arms by the time he reaches the entrance to the tall tower, thanking the Old Fathers that Stark decided to keep the place after all as he’s rushed by medical personnel and at least some of the more intelligent of the Avengers. Still, he only reluctantly lets go of the smaller body.

“We called in Cho,” a familiar voice attempts to reassure Loki, “We’ll do anything we can.”

**These failures**  
**These lessons**  
**They are feeding on my love**

Following closely, the god couldn’t care less what Stark says because promises are so easily broken, like the ones he himself had given and failed to adhere to. And now there she is, colour draining from your face as dark veins protrude under the delicate skin. _If I hadn’t…I did this._


	8. Fixing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm so Sorry” by Imagine Dragons, Avengers Tower, a bottle of whisky. All of it suggested by a lovely Anon, so I can’t credit directly. Used lyric passages are bold, as usual.  
> Sometimes, finding titles is hard :(

Opening your eyes is a struggle in its own made no lesser by the glaring lights shining down on you. Light shouldn’t hurt but this does and it’s worse than during the worst hangover…and still it’s not what makes you want to return to the soothing of the darkness that’s already reaching out for you, silencing the distant roar of voices and shrill beeps.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

All around him, people are either working frantically to save this woman they don’t even know (just because _he_ has asked them to) or yelling at him for an explanation. For once, Loki recognizes a fraction of their frustration although he brushes it aside it much the same way he clears the view from the wall he’s leaning against to the bed on the other side of the glass wall.

Green eyes flicker between the frowning faces and tightly pressed lips of the doctors and nurses. Although he knows they are doing all they can, their hands moving rapidly without missing a beat, Loki finds it near impossible to approve of their efforts. _Midgardian medicine’s archaic,_ he sneers inwardly as he sends the cold into the wall behind him instead. Archaic or not, any disruption might ruin their effort all together.

“Lokiii!” Thor’s voice breaches the annoying buzz from anyone else. “What’s the meaning of this, brother?”

Heavy hands force the God of Mischief to look away from the prone figure, finding the electric crackle he knows so well from the older brother’s spats of anger. Having grown up together, Loki supposes it makes sense that the default assumption would be that he’s somehow at fault for whatever tragedy has befallen anyone – often that would have been the case.

“I tried to prevent it,” he answers coldly, once more attempting to clear the view only to find that Thor’s a lot harder to brush aside than the flimsy Midgardians. “Move, brother.”

The hesitation’s brief, spawned from confusion rather than anger, before Thor steps aside and Loki fails in retaining a relieved sigh when the woman’s in sight again. The convulsions have ceased, and it’s a relief to see that the breathing is less laboured even if it’s only because of the tube that’s been shoved down the trachea. Stabilized, that’s the term they’re using beyond the thin barrier, so why does this strange feeling keep gnawing at him? This sense of restlessness. Of guilt and…and worry?

People begin to leave the room, some wiping their foreheads and removing what looks like lab coats, others rushing to nearby rooms with the last samples of whatever has poisoned [Y/N].

“Loki…” Thor nudges the pale man, shifting the attention to a small doctor before them.

Doctor Cho fidgets with the hem of the light blue shirt she has been wearing under the surgical outfit. Not wanting to meet the demanding, green eyes, she looks to Thor instead. “We’ve managed to stop the poison from doing any more damage,” she announces slightly shrill despite the muted whisper, “but we still don’t know what it is and unti–“

“– until you do, there’s nothing that can be done,” Loki finishes the sentence.

**About time for anyone telling you off for all your deeds**  
**No sign the roaring thunder stopped in cold to read**  
**No time**  
**Get mine and make no excuses waste of precious breath**

… Reader’s PoV   …

You know it’s a dream because of how slowly you seem to be moving, but it doesn’t matter because as long as you’re not waking up, this is what you’ve got to deal with. It’s hard to find some sense to it all, though. Caught in an endless labyrinth created of distorted artefacts, you just know that you have to move forward.

Feet heavy, the ground soft and sticky beneath you as it actively tries to hold you back, making each step physically straining until your legs and lungs are burning from sheer exertion. Whenever you pause, sticky tendrils rise to grab hold and drag you further down.

Once, you fall, nearly swallowing a mouthful of the living floor while you struggle to break free and clamber on forward. Your hand automatically reaches for the emptiness around your neck only to remind you that whatever should be there is missing. That’s why you have to keep going. Have to find the cold.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

They’ve left him alone by the bedside, deeming is safe enough to let the God of Mischief that close (at least after Thor had given his word that it would be fine). Sitting in the room with dimmed lights, Loki ignores anything going on outside that space, his watchful eyes never leaving the shape resting under soft covers. Sometimes [Y/N]’s brows crease, urging the man to lean forward, elbows on knees and chin on clasped fists. Loki can go for much longer without sleep than a normal human can.

**A son of a stepfather**  
**A son of a**  
**I'm so sorry**

By the end of the next day, a day that has come and gone without any answers and as such without a cure, Tony Stark enters the infirmary to find Loki standing very close to the bed. Pale fingers laced with nearly lifeless, a thumb absentmindedly caressing refined knuckles.

“So…” Tony begins awkwardly, “thought it was time for that drink.”

Over the years, as the former aggressor has had to clear his name and redeem himself in the eyes of the Avengers and the governing organisations of Midgard, Loki has acquired an odd relationship to the inventor and philanthropist. It’s not quite a friendship, more of a mutual respect from recognizing more than the extravagant mess-maker the world sees.

Now, looking up from the still woman, he finds Tony with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in his hand, and a crooked smile on the face that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. A nod is all it takes. Quietly lifting a chair over, the man settles down and pours two hefty measures. _I’ll return to your side soon,_ Loki promises wordlessly.

The quiet smacking of lips sounds the approval of the drink and mixes with the faint whirr from medical instruments. A precursor to the words that have yet to be said.

“Who’s she?” There’s no judgement in Tony’s voice at least.

_Yes, who is she?_ Few words would fully do the woman justice nor be capable of explaining who she is to Loki or in her own right. In truth, the only reason he’s had to still be involved in [Y/N]’s life is his guilt and his… _my what? Love?_ No. Love’s reserved for those deserving.

“She’s…someone I’m indebted to.” Dark amber swirls in the glass once. Twice. Thrice. Then it’s drained, burning pleasantly in the throat. “No news on the poison?”

“Sorry.”

Stark has many ways of apologizing, each retaining it’s own level of sincerity or scathing sarcasm depending on the recipient or the occasion. This sorry is genuine although the man isn’t to blame. Afterall, he and those affiliated with him have done all they can to save [Y/N], and it’s not their fault the Midgardian knowledge isn’t enough to –

Sensing the stillness, Stark waves a hand in front of Loki’s face. “Hey…what’s up?”

“Soul Forge…” the god manages to breathe.

“Soul…that sounds ominous.”

Loki can feel hope returning to him, can feel the renewed power running through his body. “A Soul Forge is a…how can I phrase this simply enough for you to understand? It’s a medical device used for diagnosing and treating many illnesses and condition in Asgard. It could cure [Y/N] or at least help us get closer.”

A weak sputtering can be heard from Stark, but the Asgardian’s on his feet by the hospital bed. “Sorry to break it to you, Reindeer Games, but your old man’s made it clear that you’re to stay here.”

“I know. But…I must try.”

**Life isn't always what you think it'd be**  
**Turn your head for one second and the tables turn**

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Every path you take looks the same in a world where nothing moves the air and the shadows stretch unnaturally. Still, you know you’re getting closer, somehow, because the grabby ground is receding, chased away by slippery patches of ice that glitter darkly with the threat of sending you falling though into a cold nothingness should you slip and fall hard enough.

Logic screams at you to stop, that it’s just a dream and you don’t have to try so hard…but it’s not only in your head. Not completely. Reaching a new patch of ice, you slow down in an attempt to prevent the slippery surface from breaking beneath you. Out of reach, thin tendrils of living stickiness are reaching for you only recoiling slightly at the angry glare you shoot them.

_Don’t you dare,_ you yell voicelessly at them, _I’ll get there, just wait and see!_ And you power on, chest burning and heart threatening to give up before you reach your goal.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

The idea of leaving [Y/N] behind is nearly enough to break Loki’s resolve if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s _for_ her that he’ll attempt to reconcile with his father. _Stepfather._ And if that’s not a hurdle monumental enough, Odin’s still known for his lack of interest in the Midgardians despite the realm being favoured by Thor.

“It’s time,” the older brother’s hand lies heavy on Loki’s shoulder.

They both know the risk Loki’s facing and although it may be for different reasons, they pray to the ancestors that the Trickster will be allowed to return from Asgard. One last look at the poison-marred face, a last caress across the knuckles, then Loki turns to leave.

**And I know, I know that I did you wrong**  
**But will you trust me when I say that I'll**  
**Make it up to you somehow, somehow**


	9. The Value of a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompts this time: “Ghost rule” (cover/translation by jubyphonic), Asgard, a necklace.

**I guess I really can’t dodge it this time**  
**No law to pardon my crime,**  
no clemency for this evil of mine

Of course, Heimdal had warned the All-Father. A host of Einherjar were standing ready with cuffs, chains, and golden spears the moment Loki’s feet touched solid ground. They’d been rougher than strictly necessary, shoving him to his knees before binding him with magically sealed restraints. Thor couldn’t do much to prevent it unless he wanted to make the situation worse, and besides, the brothers had promised to remain passive throughout this endeavour. Yes, breaching banishment was bound to have certain consequences.

Shoved forwards with both weapons and hard gazes at his back, Loki’s reminded of a similar scene, but this time he makes sure not to smile or talk out of turn, waiting instead till he’s right at the bottom stairs of the throne before sinking to his knees without being ordered to. Maybe it’s the sight of the fallen prince, or perhaps the fact that having Loki around always meant trouble for some one, either way a murmur ripples through the audience that has managed to gather even with the short warning.

An echoing boom of metal against stone silences the room. “Loki Laufeyson,” Odin’s voice holds a tired curiosity, “why have you returned from your banishment, knowing that the penalty might be death?”

 _As long as another life will be spared._ Finally lifting his head to face the man he once thought of as his father, Loki feels the old resentment begging to roil inside once more. Everyone’s waiting for it, expecting him to lash out verbally with that silver tongue which has won him friends and enemies alike. Even Thor, standing next to the throne, is keeping a watchful eye on the slender figure prone on the floor.

“I accept any consequences of my transgression, All-Father,” the words taste like bile but have to be spoken clearly, “and you may do with me as you see fit…I only wish to save an innocent life.”

A few snorts of disbelief can be heard through the grand hall, still Loki keeps quiet. Green eyes locked with one of pale blue, watering with age and seeking compensation through the aid of watchful spies. Seconds pass, long as a lifetime, and already the prodigal son fears it’ll be too late. A glance to Thor is noticed and scrutinized by their father.

“So you’ve found compassion for the Midgardians now? Hmmm?” Odin’s eyepatch wobbles as the white brows lift. “Tell me then…who do you intend to save?”

“Admittedly only one for now.” Even to himself, the plea sounds hollow. “A maiden whom I unwittingly put in harms way when trying to achieve the opposite.”

“One?”

“One.”

Loki’s knees are starting to ache against the stones, tempting him to reposition ever so slightly under the scrutinizing gaze of the King. He’s had worse, endured crippling pain far beyond the discomfort he now feels, and so he remains motionless save for the eyes that return the stare unwaveringly.

“Thor?” Odin commands without shifting his attention.

The God of Thunder was not one for convoluted speech when growing up in Asgard. Although he studied as a prince should under the careful eyes of Frigga and the many tutors, the more physically inclined boy preferred to put his intellect to different uses than poring over books more than absolutely necessary. Loki used to be annoyed by it, but today…today he rejoices with each simple sentence the brother utters, detailing the events since the phone call to Stark from Loki. Even as he bluntly describes the medical situation of the woman who’s nothing but a stranger to anyone else.

Silence fills the hall when Thor has finished. Odin himself shows a sliver of surprise and has very few questions for the broad warrior before sinking into thought. _Make up your mind, old man!_ Not a word passes Loki’s lips. He can’t risk angering the All-Father, the ruler of Asgard who protects the realm and its people viciously from outsider.

“You bargain your freedom and life in exchange for hers?”

“Yes.” No waver.

A low hum escapes Odin while he thinks. “And…even if there is nothing to be done to save her, you will accept your sentence?”

 _Not before she’s safe._ “Yes.”

**Although “no” is what I meant,  
I gave a “yes” and lied yet again**

…   Reader’s PoV   …

The entire world is moving, tipping and spinning around you without having any impact on your stability on the slippery ice. Faintly, you remember the idea that wherever you are isn’t the real world, but how can that be? Already, you can sense the beckoning carried on the icy winds, the urge driving you on instead of letting the stickiness take you down into the dark. Hasn’t that always been the life you’ve known?

Deciding not to care about the odd jostling of the world, you carry on slowly. As you navigate through patches of greedy tendrils, you feel how they hold on tighter…pull harder. It even looks as though more of them appears and begin to invade the relative safety of the ice. _No!_ They can’t hold you back, the musn’t. Because somewhere at the end of the path is a golden chain set with small stones and it’s calling for you.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

Odin doesn’t allow Loki to be there when [Y/N] arrives, and it’s only Thor’s shameless pleading (mixed with a bit of logic) that secures a corner view in the Healing Chambers.

 _By Mirmir’s head!_ Every curse and worrying comment is bit back in fear that the silver tongue will land Loki in trouble…or the Midgardian. It’s evident how taxing the journey has been. Each breath is laboured now, rattling the normally gorgeous chest, yet nothing seems to come off it: face sickly pale; prominent, dark veins marring the soft skin; and a fever that rages through her body with a force that fills the entire room. One glance at Thor is enough to solidify the concern.

…

Time passes slowly, each minute reflected in the glittery particles of the Soul Forge’s projection. Even the physicians, Idunn and Eir, wear grim expressions as they work their skill and magic to battle the poison eating the patient from within. Loki can barely make sense of their words, too lost in thought and consumed by a disconcerting worry that he dares not voice yet. _Just let her live._

“No, we can’t, there’s not enough.” Idunn’s brows are pulled down to the nose as she examines the data hovering above the patient.

The other healer doesn’t relent. “Maybe some o–“

“Who?!”

The one word’s sharp enough for a guard to wince, his spear brushing uncomfortably near Loki who’s trying to get an idea of what the women are arguing about. _A donor?_ Well, the options are limited, and whatever [Y/N] is in need of has to be something any healthy Asgardian must apparently possess since the physicians are discussing it at all.

“I volunteer.” Five spears realign at Loki’s calm voice.

Stalking past the exam table, Idunn takes in the ex-prince’s form properly for the first time since his arrival. “Clearly, despite your intellect, you’ve not realized that we’re referring to a full blood transfusion,” she explains curtly, “replacing _all_ of the girl’s blood.”

“Do it.”

Brown eyes are boring into cold blues. “We’d have to verify if you’re a match.”

“Do it.”

“Using just one donor could be lethal…for the donor.”

There’s no hesitation. No waver in the answer. “Do it.”

“Brother!” For all of Loki’s sharp senses, he’d forgotten the blond, bumbling idiot of a Thunder God still was there. “You cannot do this!”

“Why not?!” Again the guard flinches. “Tell me, why I shouldn’t! My freedom, maybe my life, is forfeit either way! Let it at least be used for one _good_ deed before your father does whatever he pleases with it.”

Thrusting his hands forward, manacles chafing against the skin, Loki presents the vulnerable insides of the elbows the best he can.

…

 _Perhaps this isn’t so bad after all._ The darkness of the marring, prominent veins is already lessening, leaving Loki to believe that he can see a healthy luster returning to [Y/N]’s delicate skin even from where he’s lying in a neighbouring Soul Forge.

“I must admit,” Odin’s voice shifts the adoptive son’s attention, “that your action moves me.”

“I’m not doing it for you.”

Maybe Thor wants to say something, his mouth opening and closing as he rolls slowly on his feet. Swaying. Lulling. _Must keep my eyes open._ It’s getting difficult already. A tiredness is invading Loki’s body as the pumps work to withdraw blood from both subjects, only pumping it into one afterwards. This is not how the Asgardian had expected it to end, complacent and filled with regrets.

“If this should be your last deed, my son, then I will remember you more fondly than I once feared I would have to.” The voice is distant, with a cotton-like quality to it as it seeps through the dimming lights.

**Go ahead and judge away,  
I chose to be this kind of person anyway **

…   Reader’s PoV   …

The dream’s fading, becoming nothing more than a fuzzy memory of desperation and a longing for something that you don’t even recall anymore save for a glittery eye of a tiger. It had been so important to reach it, but did you actually succeed in the end? Whatever it is that had been so vital, it’s not in your hand as you try to move it, fingers fumbling over soft silk and lungs filling wonderfully with clean air scented with honey. It’s like breathing life, and a tiny content sigh escapes you.

Soothing but insistent, your senses come back for full power, and despite the soft bed, it’s hard to find comfort in your body and mind: one is tingling as though every part has been asleep and is now waking with pins and needles, the other is flooded with fragmented recollections of a hand-over gone wrong. Very wrong.

You push yourself upwards against a wooden headrest with a groan, eyes blinking to stop the room around you from swimming away in a haze, and you spot a figure sitting in a chair. Broad shoulders hunched forward and elbows resting on the knees to leave the hands hanging loosely folded.

“So…you wake,” is all Thor says before getting up and leaving, ignoring your stunned reaction.

…

You’ve been bathed and dressed in a pretty yet antique-ish dress. Even fed. But no one has bothered explain to you what has happened and why you’re here in Asgard. _That’s where I am, right?_ Following a guard in golden armour, you’re being led through impressive halls with statues, murals, and tapestries the likes of which you’ve only seen it the best museums and private collections. It’s not until the enormous double doors open that you realize you’re on your way to the throne to meet the king. _Odin._

All the curiosity you’d felt is twisted into a nausea-inducing anxiety as you pass pillars and people lining the length of the room, all standing silently watching. At each carved stone reaching high above are more guards, but it’s the silently moving shadows at the walls that prevent you from breathing further than the top of the sternum and recognising Thor next to the throne does nothing to compensate. _Where’s Loki?_ He’s got to be around somewhere, but you can’t find him and all too soon you’re at the dais and have to kneel with eyes fixed on the floor.

“[Y/N] [Y/L/N].” _Where does Odin know my name from?_ “It is imperative that you understand how seldom it is for an outsider to be brought here…let alone a simple Midgardian.” There’s a poorly veiled insult there, but this is not the time to pick a fight and you choose to nod instead. “Still…here you are.” _Was that a sigh?_ “My adoptive son Loki came and pleaded for the best physicians to treat you in the hope your life could be saved. He came…although he had been banished from this realm…”

The king continues for much longer than you find necessary, especially focusing on the infinite benevolence of him as a king and the Asgardian prowess on pretty much every single field of science, history, and diplomacy. The few stolen glances reveal nothing to be out of the ordinary, and you presume this must be the normal way for the aging monarch to address anyone in court.

Eventually, Odin reaches the end and waits for you to express your gratitude for the lifesaving treatment he has extended to you, a pathetic human (not his actual words, but same point). Of course, you sing his and Asgard’s praises. To begin with.

“Your majesty, if I may…” You try to sound confident as you meet his eyes. Eye. “Where’s Loki? I’d like to thank him.”

**Tell them who I really am,  
Since everything I know’s about to meet its end **


	10. Patiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from a sweet anon: "Natural" by Imagine Dragons, Asgard, and Loki's horned helmet.

It’s annoyingly difficult to stalk with rage in each step when you’re still weak from having been poisoned. If you could have, however, then the footsteps would have been sharp against the stones on the way through the palace. As it is, you’re using every ounce of energy simply to keep up with the two royal men and the surrounding guards.

At least you pay attention to the route. Valhalla’s grand, filled with numerous chambers, halls, and stairs that would make it easy to get lost. You’ve got a method which always has helped you memorize a new place…just in case you’ll need to navigate through the building alone and possibly while being chased. Occupational hazard. Admittedly, if you had to run now, you probably wouldn’t move quickly at all.

Maybe Thor notices your physical discomfort. Maybe he’s simply as curious as the electric-blue eyes shimmering at you leads to think. Slowing his steps, he falls back to walk by your side and even offers an impressively muscular arm to lean on which you take after a brief hesitation. _If he’d hurt me, then he’d already have done so._

With his support, you manage to descend several levels, leaving the light of day behind in favour of brazier-fueled shadows that jump and dance when people pass. Down past heavily locked and guarded doors to a room that seems a hybrid between a fancy gallery and old dungeons. Invisible walls shimmer with fragmented lines of gold, somehow containing the bright illumination as if the wall were solid concrete. Descending a number of steps brings the contents of the two first “rooms” in view. One on either side, and each with what must constitute for prisoners here in Asgard.

“Why’re we here?” you demand, unafraid of which etiquettes you’re breaking.

Not bothering to pause or look back, Odin leaves it up to his son to answer. “You recall the warning Loki was given? That the donation of his blood could cause him his life?”

“…yeeah?” _Gods…no. Not that. Please don’t…_

“He seemed to think it was a price worth paying as he otherwise would be at the mercy of Odin due to having entered the realm uninvited.” His eyes dance around, landing on the cells and the floor…anywhere but you before he points to a cell a few yards up ahead. “He will not escape the punishment for his transgressions.”

Shoving ahead of the group, you stumble to the raised area of the cell, catching yourself on the barrier as you stumble over the ledge. You’re faintly aware of mixed reactions behind you, but it doesn’t matter because all you see is a room where ice spreads from a single, blue figure lying on a bed. _Loki._ The effect of his natural form is raging unchecked and it should frighten you…perhaps. All it does is turn fear to joy. _He’s alive._

“Loki!” Your yell only stirs a few snowflakes that are gliding through the air on the other side of the barrier. “ _Loki!_ ”

A heavy but gentle hand latches on to your shoulder and isn’t shaken off. “Lady [Y/N], he cannot hear you. He’s beyond reach,” Odin explains gently.

“Then let me in there so he _can_ hear me!”

“It is not due to any barrier of our world.” Turning you, an old eye scans your face. “He may be alive…but the procedure took its toll.”

The words click fast enough, but the king’s choice is beyond your grasp. “Then why’s here in _there_? Send him to a hospital!” _How can he be so cruel?_

“He _is_ being treated by our healers, Midgardian. However, this is the safest place to keep him until his powers are under control once more.”

_That…kinda makes sense._ Looking over your shoulder, only a magical veil obstructs the view to the unconscious Loki. A blanket’s spread over him but it doesn’t quite cover the tall frame so blue shoulders are left exposed save for where a few tendrils of black hair reaches. You could look at him all day. Will him to wake up.

**In this house of mine?  
Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost, tell me**

…

It had been a surprise when the king wanted you to stay as long as was needed, even more so when he hadn’t objected when Thor recommended you were moved to another room. You didn’t care much even if it was a veritable suite with perfect view and lavish furniture, preferring instead to spend as much time as you could by the cell. The guards had gotten used to you, greeting you with smiles when you arrived and if there’d been any changes in Loki’s status then they’d undoubtedly let you know. There just wasn’t.

The last rays of sun are slipping past a layer of clouds, finally bringing some warmth into the room. If you would pay any attention, then you could marvel at the amber gleam of the wood, or the many shimmering hues of green woven into the drapes at either side of the wide windows and balcony doors. Instead you’re staring into one of the many books this room contains without actually seeing the page or what’s written on it. It’s the knocking on the door that brings you back to the present.

“Enter.”

It’s probably yet another servant. Of all the differences you’re getting accustomed to here on Asgard, it’s the staff that are making you feel the most out of place, especially because they all seem to find you more adorable than actually special. Sure, they’re perfectly polite. They just happen to talk to you as though you were a child.

“Lady [Y/N],” the deep rumble belongs to the only prince capable of walking the castle freely, “may I keep you company for a while?”

You can hardly refuse and soon Thor has dragged over another gigantic chair next to the one you sit in and set down a flask and two goblets. Watching bemused, you mentally note the difference of liquid he pours into the goblets but choose not to comment as he passes you the one with the least in. A careful sniff clears your sinuses instantaneously, but the honeyed scent is too good to resist for long, so you accept the quiet toast. _Holy fuck!_ The alcohol burns sweet and strong, triggering all the right taste buds.

“You may want to drink with caution,” Thor warns as you down the remaining mouthful, “Midgardians are more…susceptible to our liquors.”

“Oh. Okay.” You’ve barely placed the goblet on the table before you feel the slight buzz which normally would require a lot more to drink.

Silence reigns. Oppressing. Loaded with unspoken thoughts, most of which (at least on your behalf) are related to Loki and his situation. _So, he’s a stalker with a conscience…big deal._ Still, there’s no way you can pretend the flutter in your stomach doesn’t appear each time you think of being near him (in a more conscious state), or the paralyzing dread by the idea that Loki might not survive. Even the thought of him being stuck in a prison cell while you’re free to live your life somehow seems unbearable. _I don’t owe him! He chose to save…save me oh crap._ Not only had he saved you, he’d even tried to warn you. And he’d confided in you.

“Why did Loki attack New York?”

Shifting in his seat, Thor thinks for a while before answering. “I shouldn’t tell anyone this…but I’m willing to do an exception in your case...” A sip from the goblet buys him more time. “The full tale is much longer…but there had been certain…event.” Grabbing the flask, both cups are given a generous refill. “My brother was distraught, acting out of despair and spite…sorrow…” A drink is shared, renewing the buzz in your head. “He left us and fell into the hands of a very evil being who…broke him…”

“A titan.” Your comment makes Thor eye you with surprise. “Loki told me a gruesome story full of torture and brainwashing…I guess I kinda hoped it’d been a lie.”

“You would rather see him commit those crime voluntarily?”

“Of _course_ not! I just don’t want him to…to…”

“Trust you?” You shrug at the suggestion. “[Y/N]…I do not claim to understand the nature of the relationship between my brother and you. But I _know_ he’s good at heart, and that circumstances beyond his control have forced him to build a façade, to keep people at an arms length.” 

…

There’s so much you want to know, but you don’t know how to and the liquor’s beginning to cloud your brain. It’s not until Thor’s about to leave and offhandedly remarks whom the room belonged to, that your mind jumps back into action.

“I used to sneak in here at night, as a little boy, if I couldn’t sleep,” the god smiles, “often Loki would be awake too and we’d play until we ended up being too noisy and the maid or mother would hear us.” A shimmer of bittersweet joy is visible in the rugged face, but it’s soon gone and Thor bids you goodnight.

_Loki’s room._ Leaning against the closed door, you take in the place, noticing the colour scheme and items reflecting the interests Loki still entertain on Earth. All the books (or at least those you’ve been able to decipher) cover a range of subjects and genres, forming a perfect foundation for someone who wishes to be well-spoken…even silver-tongued. _I should’ve seen it._ The entire room is a treasure trove of information on the one person you need to know everything about.

**Rather be the hunter than the prey  
And you're standing on the edge, face up 'cause you're a…**

…

Dividing your time more or less equally between your own basic needs, watching over Loki, and exploring his room meticulously, it takes a few days before there’s only a single chest left unopened…and still the god is unconscious.

“Lady [Y/N],” one of the usual guards greets you as you enter the dungeon, “I’m afraid there has been no change overnight.”

For the untrained eye, it could almost look as if he really _is_ sorry, but there is a shadow of relief that not even the most rigorous training can smother.

“It’s oka– it’s fine.” _Placate him._ What you want to achieve requires all the pity you can make him feel. “I don’t expect he’ll recover…not before I have to leave, anyways.”

“You’re leaving?”

Gaze downcast, you shrug awkwardly. “I don’t belong here…even though everyone treats me kindly, there’s no…joy for me here. Just pain.”

“Is there anything we can do to ease your troubled heart?”

“I…it’s…what I want isn’t possible.” Sheer willpower (and a bit of bad memories) makes the vision of your shoes go blurry with tears and you can finally look up.

A split-second of shock and discomfort is all it takes before the guard’s mind has been made up. “Tell me what I can do.”

**A beating heart of stone**  
You gotta be so cold  
To make it in this world

…   Loki’s PoV   …

A fistful of bright heat has appeared in the midst of the soothing cool enveloping Loki’s body. A part of it wants to shake it away because it burns his skin where it touches…but mostly he wants the sweet pain the stay. To remind him of something…important. _Nay…someone?_ It would fit with the soft hum of a gentle voice that has infused the dreamlike state Loki has revelled in since…

Memories rattle the calm, sets the god fighting against the paralyzing dream that has numbed his thoughts until now. _I must wake up._ He recalls everything up to the moment where darkness took him. Death, he had thought, but this cannot be death after all because the voice belongs to [Y/N] and she _must_ have survived.

“…waiting……all very……why did…”

Bits and pieces of a one-sided conversation are recognizable by now, spurring Loki on. The heat he’s been feeling takes form of a hand, fingers entwined in his own and although he doesn’t dare move or open his eyes just yet, he knows how little it is in the blue of his own limb. Shivers run all the way to [Y/N]’s fingertips. _She’s cold._ Grasping for the magic within to shift into the warmer, gentler form of an Asgardian, Loki finds that he has nothing left to work with.

“…”

He can’t get the words out to get the Midgardian to leave, to find a warm place rather than linger in the cold he emanate. Finally wrenching his eyelids up, the white room nearly blinds him until he manages to find the darker shape that is the woman. Wrapped in a cloak, she huddles on something by the floor of his bed, probably preferring to sit there so she can hold his hand.

Testingly, Loki squeezes the slender fingers, and all sounds stills. Even her breathing. _Once more, then._

“Loki?” A trill of hope’s laced into that single uttering.

As their eyes meet, [Y/N]’s begin to well up with tears of joy that fall on her cheeks to freeze into beads of glittery ice. It’s a sight he could admire all day, but he’s given very little time to do so before her face looms tauntingly over his, the smiling lips whispering his name before finding his. Cold and heat mingle beautifully, proving that this is no dream. The kisses taste of ocean and fruits, the crisp air smells like heaven, and a shy face beams down at Loki when it comes to a halt.

“Loki…”

“Mmmmm?” He can’t help the smile from stretching his lips.

“You. Are.” A delicate finger taps the tip of the blue nose. “A complete and bloody moron!”

The smile disappears, replaced by surprise and angrily furrowed brows. “What –?”

“Why the _hell_ would y’ give up your freedom let alone _risk_ your _fucking life_?! _Fine!_ ” Even the time it takes for [Y/N] to draw in air is too short to get a word in. “So you’ve claimed y’ care about me ‘n whatnot! What am I s’posed to do with _that_ if _you_ go ‘n sacrifice yourself like some some… _uhh!_ ”

Loki can fell how dry his throat is when he tries to talk again. “If this is your way of thanki–“

“Thanking?” Pretty eyebrows shoot upwards in protest. “Yes, thank you for saving my life.” _She sounds as sarcastic as I can._ “And for placing me in an impossible position where I’m in debt to a fucking _god_ and his freaking _family_!”

“The debt owed was mine. We’re even now.”

“Oh really? Just like that?” [Y/N] wipes away tears from her hectically warm cheeks. “From where I stand the scales are out o’ balance.”

_By Odin’s beard, she’s stubborn._ “It’s of no concern right now, at least. Alright?” A shrug and then a nod makes it out for an answer. “Tell me instead…why _are_ you here? Is the All-Father not letting you leave?”

“H’agreed to let me stay for a while…” [Y/E/C] doesn’t meet Loki’s but are trained on their hands that still are locked together. “They took me t’ see you when I woke up…y’re just lyin’ here...”

Loki knows better than to say anything as the woman explains the part of the events she has witnessed. The words themselves hold little value, it’s the tone and the facial expressions that captivates the Trickster because it tells much more than [Y/N] intends. Yes, she has been cared for. Yes, she feels indebted after her life has been saved. Yet none of that is the true concern harboured in her heart, and even if she realises what the cause really is, she still hasn’t got the words. Eventually, she quiets, eyes partially following the path of her thumb over Loki’s knuckles and back.

That’s how Odin and Thor finds them after a guard has hurried slowly to alert them of Loki’s consciousness.

…   Reader’s PoV   …

The castle is going to sleep, and you’re sitting on the soft rug, finally calmed down enough to use the improvised tools you’ve created to pick the lock on the chest. Alright, tools might still be too grand a term. It’s a couple of hair and shawl pins, a fork with bent prongs, and a thin dagger. Asgardian locks are slightly different from the standard Midgardian type, but it only takes a few attempts before you’ve managed to gain access and lift the lid.

“Oh.”

You’re not sure what you should have expected…but it wasn’t a deep green, velvet pillow in the bottom with one object resting upon it. Colden horns the length of your forearm are curving upwards from the headgear. Picking it up slowly, you turn the familiar crown-like item over and over in your hands, careful not to poke yourself in the face with the horns. _Antlers_.

A silly thought pops into your mind, prompting you to rush over to the tall mirror by the wardrobe and place the iconic accessory on you head. It’s a tad too big, wobbling when you move and needs to be stabilized to prevent it from sliding crooked. Still… _I get it. This is power in an object._

“I see you understand the appeal,” a smooth voice announces from behind you.

A mix of fear and embarrassment freezes you in place rather than turn towards the door, but in the mirror, you see Loki being ushered into the room by a couple of guards and Thor before the door closes again. You hear the lock click, but that doesn’t matter because the green eyes are burning.


	11. Ready or not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the prompts from last chapter (just because I had written so much originally that it had to be split in two parts)…but I decided to choose a new song and got help from my hubby for that. Now the prompts are: “Dangerous” by Royal Deluxe, Asgard, Loki’s helmet.

Every ounce the man that drove you to temptation, Loki’s posture demands subjugation even if he must be weak still. _Or maybe he isn’t?_ Studying the god, you notice a faint blue taint in his pale skin where raised markings are visible to any careful observer, proving that he’s putting on a show whether it’s for your benefit or not.

“I see you’ve been busy, my dear.” Moving his gaze to the golden headgear, there’s no doubt what he’s referring to. “I was…certain that chest had been locked…perhaps I was mistaken?”

His steps are careful, slow, but show no sign of strain as Loki walks to inspect the tools still lying by the chest. A hum reveals how impressed he is with what you’ve made do with, making you straighten up with ill-hidden pride. Adjusting his “crown” on your head, you consider the reflection in the mirror. _Not bad._ Sure, the dress is a bit odd in it’s foreign design, but the near-black purple silk that flows softly around your shape thanks to strategically placed golden ribbons. _In fact,_ you decide, _they match the horns very well._ Flowy, long sleeves can easily hide the actions of your hands if needed, but that won’t be needed right now.

Turning fully towards Loki once more, you find him seated on the end of the bed. He’s been silently observing you as well, and a smirk hints that he likes the view.

“What brings you here?” you ask, crossing your arms below your bosom to push the breasts up towards the low neckline.

“These are my chambers,” the explanation is quiet, but his voice drops as he continues, “as are the contents.”

The low purr sends shivers through your body, and you know there won’t be anything you’ll refuse him even though you’re willing to play hard to get. “Is that so? I thought it was illegal to _own_ people…at least _I_ won’t be your slave.” _‘Cause I’m wearing the crown._

“My slave? No…you’ll attend to my needs of your own _free_ will tonight,” he purrs deviously, “then we’ll see about the title later.”

“I _may_ be benevolent… _if_ you get undressed.”

Quirking and eyebrow, Loki doesn’t discuss the terms but merely waves a hand to magic his simple clothes away in a haze of gold and emerald, leaving him naked and very much at attention. Rarely one to ignore an impressive cock, your eyes are drawn to the semi-erection between the Asgardian’s thighs. Yes, you feel an aching need for it…but you want more than that, craving his touch everywhere on the skin. A hungry meeting of hot and cold. Past trails of kisses and love bites need renewing with a vigour that can only be found by those who nearly lost the way completely.

“Stroke yourself…my lord.”

He obeys without hesitation by grabbing the cock loosely, arm resting on the thigh as he sets a lazy pace without even once taking the eyes off you. _Some incentive won’t go amiss._ Reaching up under the dress, you find the delicate fabric of the underwear and pull it down. By the time it appears from under the skirts to pool around you ankles, Loki’s tongue is wetting his lips and his breathing has sped up. Moments later the tiny piece of clothing lands beside him on the bed.

“Move up to the headboard.”

Again, there’s no argument, and he’s rewarded by the golden sash that has held the dress tight around your waist. This one lands on the floor and is soon joined by the first layer of the dress (only leaving two more – Asgardian fashion is very different from temporary Earth-clothes). On his own, Loki has resumed the stroking but this time tighter, baring the dark cockhead each time his hand reaches the base. A bead of natural lubrication appears and is spread in a thin, glistening sheen.

**This is how it's gonna be  
This is what you'll think of me**

You pull at a few more ribbons, very slowly, before the most substantial part of the dress cascades off your shoulders. Gone are the flowy sleeves and the midnight-purple dabbled with gold, and you’re left in a thin shift in a ridiculously romantic lilac hue. You’d never have picked that yourself, but Loki approves, drinking in the vision of you.

“My dear,” the hushed longing transforms into the tell-tale purr, “had I know this would be my reward for sacrificing myself then I would not have waited so long.”

Head held high you cross the distance to the foot end of the bed. “Who says the reward is yours?”

You have to hold on to the horns perched precariously on your head as you climb onto the mattress, but as you settle down (kneeling or sitting on your heels) near Loki’s feet, it’s safe for you to occupy your hands elsewhere. Tracing every curve through the delicate fabric, you allow the god to admire what he can from afar. The pointed nipples are pinched and rolled through the almost transparent silk; waist is highlighted by broad strokes along the sides of the ribcage and across the stomach before  you roll your hips into your own palms.

A few feet away, Loki’s ragged breath is barely muted by the teeth he digs into the lower lip even though his hand has slowed. All he can do, it seems, is to hold on to whatever is near. His grasp on the Asgardian shape is failing, causing red to mingle with the normally bright colour of his iris while the blue shade reclaims his limbs by spreading from each ridge and marking.

Bunching the skirt up a bit, one of your hands disappears underneath it with a clear destination. Although the nimble movement of the fingers is nothing by a shadow underneath the rumpled fabric, you help Loki understand exactly what is happening by rolling your hips, guiding your own fingers between then slick folds. And you do nothing at all to mask the obscene sound produced each time a finger slips past the entrance to the core or the growing moans when you tease the clit.

“[Y/N]…” the god groans desperately.

“Yeah?”

Your other hand hasn’t been idle but working your breasts and nipples through the shift. Now you slide it down a thigh and begin to collect the fabric, pulling it upwards inch by inch. It’s torture for Loki. His cock is straining and leaking precum.

“Let me worship your gorgeous body.” The offer’s breathless, making you smirk at his attempt to hide the frustration.

“Don’t want to strain you,” you mumble.

Already kissing a path up his legs while trying to control the impractical headpiece, you whine as the golden horns are stolen for you. Looking up at Loki, however, you change your mind. _Fuck me._ Battling colours in eyes and skin takes absolutely nothing from the sight. Sex on legs? Sure. And confident, skilled temptation too. But with that thing on his head there’s no doubt in your heart that he does command you.

Straightening up on your knees, it’s a battle to pull the shift off slow enough to maintain some semblance of control. _Don’t let him decide anything…else..._ It lands in a heap somewhere beyond the bed. Bending down to continue the path you’d started, the kisses and bites are only interrupted the few times you have to swat the impatient god’s hands away, each time earning a growl that does nothing but encourage you. You pay particularly good attention to Loki’s hipbones and sensitive area around the cock…but you don’t touch him there.

The balls get a slow lick (resulting in a tremulous gasp) before you move on up across his chest where each nipple get either a kiss of a bite, and by the time you’re indulging yourself with the neck and chiseled jaw, you’ve come to straddle Loki…but you still don’t touch his cock.

“[Y/N…]”

“Patience.”

**And I'm about to make it clear**  
**It's going down like I told ya**  
**I'm the baddest mother up in here**

Lips meet, tongues dance. It’s enough of a distraction that you can return a hand to your own sex, causing you to sigh into Loki’s mouth, and as cool hands caress your shoulders and back you realize just how easily the god would be able to push you over the edge.

“My pet.” Insisting arms are pulling you closer, a bigger hand nudging your to take over the sinful ministrations.

“I thin’,” you murmur through teeth pulling at his earlobe, “tha’ we’ve establi’ed I’m no’ ju’ your pet.”

Moving closer, tilting your hips is all it take to guide his throbbing cock between your slick folds until it’s glistening. A _bonk_ from the headgear and a tremulous groan proves the effect it has on Loki. It’s all he can do, restraining himself from rutting into you, and you see the shimmer as his Asgardian shape threatens to fail.

“I wanna fuck _you_ , Loki,” you purr, “don’t hide your perfections.”

His eyes snap open, red outside the blown blackness of lust, making you shiver with anticipation of this wilder side of him as he grows just a smidgen in all dimension while the skin takes on the Jotun characteristics that you’ve come to love.

“There we go.”

Sure, the praise makes him smile crookedly, but the expression changes to that of slack-jawed bliss the moment you begin to lower yourself onto his length. _Fuuuuck._ Thick, ridged, and cold, the intrusion send shiver rolling through your body and there’s no way to prevent how hard you clamp on to him with your pussy.

Slow at first, and with Loki’s hands tight on your hips for guidance, you ride the god to the verge of the first orgasm. It becomes difficult to maintain the dragging rhythm even with your hands wrapped around the horns for support until a breathy order tumbles from you lips and Loki keeps you in place while he thrusts into you. Hard and deep, the ridges seem to slide across your g-spot with a perfection you couldn’t attain on your own, and soon you’re gasping the god’s name as your cunt spasms and your womb shakes.

“Let m–“

“No!” You’re not done with him yet, raising high enough to release his cock from your hold before you collapse onto his chest. “Not yet.”

“Then allow me to taste you, m’lady.”

How can you say no to that? Rolling off of him, you barely have time to land before his tongue weaves between the shivering folds.

_Shit._ The moans Loki produces should be illegal, obscene in sound as he eagerly labs at you, there’s no doubt that he genuinely enjoys what he’s doing, and each satisfied hum and groan sends vibrations into your core and still-sensitive clit.

Guiding him by the horns, you bring his focus exactly where you need it. The cold might soothe the burning ache, but there’s no respite from the feverish pleasure rolling through you. A finger, then two and then three are added to the mix and this time he’s got you arching as you practically call out for him. High-pitched and ignorant of a world outside the bed.

“Lo- _LoKII_!”

You can feel him smile against your core. “Yes, m’lady?”

A cheeky idea pops into your head, and you smile down at his glistening face. “You’ve been _so_ very good, my dear,” shivering subtly from the soaring ecstasy, a pleased sigh escapes you, “I’ll grant you a wish.”

Now that gets his attention. Prowling over your naked form, he reach far enough to explore your throat and jawline with his mouth before biting gently at your ear.

“A wish…” he ponders while sending new shivers down your spine, “I should like to take you on all four. My horns on your beautiful head to hold on to as I ram into your delicious quim.”

A deep kiss seals the deal, but before you turn around, he places the golden accessory on your head. _Oh, it’s like that?_ A golden shimmer radiated like a halo around your skull and you feel the crown tighten until it fits perfectly.

“So…perfect.” Something else than lust burns in the red and black eyes as Loki takes you in.

Suddenly, he’s twisted you around and you scramble to find purchase against the intricately carved wood of the headboard as your god slams his cock deep into you, one hand digging its fingers into your butt cheek while the other grabs hold of one of the horns. The tug isn’t harsh, but it’s enough to force your head back and spine arching in a way that present your ass perfectly for him.

Gibberish. That’s all the words tumbling from your mouth are, but the moans and whimpers are easy enough to understand and they spur the man on.

You’re already keening from the impending bliss when a cold hand snakes around your hips to find the slippery folds and the tiny nerve bundle hidden away there. A few circular rubs is all it takes before you come undone, screaming silently with pleasure.

“My… _qu-queennn!_ ”

Cold and hot liquids mix within you, taking away your attention from the sharp bite on your shoulder. Moments later, the two of you have collapsed in an ungraceful heap of tangled limbs and sloppy kisses. Somehow the golden horns disappear on their own.

“I’m gonna…gonna wear that more…often,” you manage to gasp.

The arm that ensnares you and pulls you close is still blue. Big and strong and absolutely perfect like the chest you snuggle against.

“But now we sleep, my dear.”

**Get ready cos here I come**  
**I'm about to come and get me some**  
**Hot as a smoking gets**


	12. Is it madness?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted: “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC, Asgard, the throne.

A golden glow manages to worm its way past your heavy eyelids, reminding you of a world outside of the cocoon you’ve snuggled into. A nest of soft sheets and cool limbs, a gentle breath fanning your shoulder in a slow but steady rhythm.

Blinking against the morning sun, you take in the serenity that are the ruins from the night: parts of the pretty dress are scattered in a path to the bed and the golden horns are dangling from the canopy above, gleaming playfully at you until you see the warped reflection of you and Loki who’s practically wrapped around you.

Craning the neck only brings a sliver of the god’s face and pale upper body into view. _Time to be sneaky._ There’s no way you want to wake him up already. He needs the rest…and honestly, you want this moment to last. All too soon this dream of a morning will be shattered in some nasty way that probably involves guards and a prison cell…if lucky. So you twist slowly, careful not to jostle Loki too much with the series of wriggles it takes before you finally lie chest to chest with him.

If someone would have told you this is where you’d end before you’d stolen the tiger’s eye pendant…the would have sounded like liars. Or at least you’d have made sure to let them know how crazy there were. _Crazy indeed._ Of course stealing from a god could have consequences! It just wasn’t supposed to have included falling for the freaking guy.

How could you not have? Chiseled features hides one of his best assets: the highly intelligent mind that enjoyes challenging you and holds immense knowledge on any subject you could possibly fathom even a fraction of. Combining that with a personality which you don’t even have the vocabulary to fully describe and a body tha–

“You’re staring, my queen.” Loki’s voice is raw and sweet, still heavy with sleep.

“Still got your eyes closed so how’d y’know?”

When they open, there’s only a tiny hint of crimson at the edges to contrast the turquoise. Perfect and cold like ice to some, it’s hard to understand how warm his gaze is. Loki isn’t one person with neatly defined traits. No. He’s a living, breathing, goddamn paradox.

“My eyes are open now,” he smiles, “and you’re still staring.”

“A cat may look at a king.”

**Living easy, living free  
Season ticket on a one-way ride**

Dark brows wrinkle as he ponders the meaning of the idiom, and you can see the moment he realises what it means. “There are some laws here that we will have to abide by.” The smile’s gone, the joy too.

“What’s gonna happen to you?” If you’d wanted to sound brave, well, that’s not what you managed to pull off as the question’s reduced to a meek whisper.

Soft lips seek out your forehead and mouth. It’s not a real answer. Less so the answer you actually want because you can taste the desperation on his tongue as both of you try to commit the other to memory in the hopes of stretching this glorious morning into infinity.

It’s to the sound of the birds and rustle of silk sheets that Loki makes love to you. Sweet and tender. Toe-curling bliss rolling through your body like waves onto a dry beach until the second orgasm pulls the god along in the surf, your name spilling from his lips in a broken whisper.

_We belong…_

…   Loki’s PoV   …

He had never intended for things to go the way they did. [Y/N]’s feistiness had drawn him in, her wit and skills had dazzled him…and none of it was enough to explain why Loki had found himself falling for this woman. The many excuses he’d thought up during the long days as he tried to distract himself from her memory were, in the end, bullshit. And the curses he’d been prepared to spit in the woman’s face after yet another lonely night haunted by her scent with nothing but his mind and hands to quench the burning desire? No…Loki’s intellect and foresight had not saved him from this fate.

_I love her._

The knowledge isn’t new. He’s known for quite some time although the god has done anything to avoid both thinking and saying it. Nearly losing her was just the latest push in the same direction, down a path that inevitably will break [Y/N]’s heart because that’s all this cruel semi-Asgardian can offer. It’s selfish of him to covet her heart.

_A broken heart is better than a dead heart,_ he’d thought as he chose to repay his debt the only way he could. But it hadn’t worked as intended, and while [Y/N] could ask him anything of him, Odin would be the one to deem it possible or not. One night. The request had been Loki’s even though he knew the price would be high. At least Thor had pleaded his case or the All-Father surely would have denied it without a second’s hesitation.

_One night…and then what?_ What seemed like a great idea once has turned into a sweet nightmare which Loki has to distract himself from by doting on the Midgardian woman in the hopes that she might understand how much she has come to mean to him.

_I could just tell her?_ They bathe together, barely speaking a word because no words will be enough anyways. He dresses [Y/N] in dark blue and silver, hoping to spare the pain it would be to see her in Loki’s own colours because there’s no way anymore that she will ever be his in this world or another…not even now as she willingly gives herself to him. _Not give._ No, this time the god is the one who has prayed for and received nothing short of a miracle. But the sweet satisfaction has come too late, on the very cusp of judgement.

Breakfast is brought to them, brimming with the best delicacies Asgard can offer. It’s with a feigned smile and unnatural cheerfulness that Loki speaks of his childhood when he was causing mischief in the great halls of Valhalla and more often than not pinning the suspicions on Thor. Time and time again, an honest laugh is coaxed from [Y/N] only to be snuffed prematurely as reality catches up with the game of pretence.

Their time together is brought to an end by the arrival of a dozen guards preceding Odin and Thor. Heavy manacles and chains are wrapped around Loki despite the oath he’s given. Upon [Y/N]’s life, the prison would neither struggle nor attempt to escape. His distaste of the safety measures are not for himself (he wouldn’t trust himself either), but for the pain in her eyes that never waver from him once. Thor’s by her side, a heavy hand upon the comparatively narrow shoulder as though to comfort her or keep the woman in place.

“Wait!” They’ve already marched Loki to the door when he hears her cry.

Someone must have accepted the plea, because next moment the taste of [Y/N] is on his lips once more, mingling with traces of salt.

**Don't need reason, don't need rhyme  
Ain't nothing I would rather do**

…   Reader’s PoV   …

_Just like that._

You can only surmise Loki’s being brought back to the prison, but it has been more than obvious that this time there’ll be no visits. Even though the guards and Odin left now without as much as a word to explain, you can’t risk sneaking after them because Thor’s hovering around in the room that suddenly seems cold and barren. Maybe you should be comforted by his presence. At least it’s keeping you from doing some pretty stupid things that could make Loki’s situation worse. Glancing over at the blond meat-wall of a guy, you don’t feel any better.

“Lady [Y/N],” he offers lamely, an apologetic smile on his lips that does nothing to hide the pity, “do not fret…my father has not decided on the verdict yet.”

“What are the odds?” You can hear it yourself, how hollow your voice is.

Falling onto a chair, which groans under the sudden strain, even Thor seems to be at a loss for anything optimistic. “There’s a strain in the relationship between my brother and father.” _No shitting._ “Over the years, my word has come to way less and less. In fact…” He pins you to the ground where you stand with electric-blue eyes. “In fact _you_ may be the best hope there is for him.”

_Then we’re fucked._ The odd wording of the thought makes you hesitate. It’s his freedom or worse on the line. Not yours. A year ago, there’d have been no “we” and you’d never have ended up this close to anyone, instead stayed detached enough to simply walk away without a second thought. It had been a simpler life. A lonely life. _Well this is gonna be fucking lonely anyways unless I do something._

“Tell me how the justice system works here.”

**Nobody's gonna mess me around  
Hey Satan, paid my dues**

…

For three days, you and Loki are kept separate and the news on his wellbeing are close to non-existent. It’s fairly clear, how badly Thor wants to speak with you, tell you something to bring comfort. Maybe the king has made him swear to keep quiet in that respect but at least the prince compensates by giving you a crash course on Asgardian courtroom etiquette which turns out to be surprisingly simple (and prone to flaws).

Odin’s the judge. There’s no jury, save for anyone the old ruler might call upon as a sort of council. And the executioner? Anyone he points to.

At first, you make the mistake of thinking it’ll make things simpler because the way of addressing Odin as judge will be no different from the manners required when addressing him as a king, but the next second you realize that you’ll be talking to a man who’s used to complete obedience and that for all his rumoured wisdom…he will most likely be biased. This is his son. Adopted, sure, but a son nonetheless and Odin’s not forgiving towards the mistakes of his children.

_Anything I say can and will – fuck!_ Poking at the smoldering wood in the fireplace, it seems to you like there’s no way out unless you and everyone else are willing to sweet-talk the King until his ears are dripping with honey. Loki chose to return despite the banishment, and it had been clear from the beginning that the consequences would be harsh if that were ever to happen. _Idiotic god._ The poker releases an eruption of sparks. _Fucking, grudge-holding, semi-sadistic stepdad._ At least Odin’s kind to you, treating you tenderly on the rare occasions you are together to the surprise of even Thor.

The shadows from the poker dance and dive blackly against the surrounding stones while you ponder the obvious. _Why?_ You’re a freaking human, Midgardian, an outsider in whom the king isn’t supposed to show any particular favours or interest…except he does.

Ignoring the clatter and angry flares from the hastily discarded poker, you push to your feet and grab the nearest cloak to throw around your shoulders. Soft and dark green, it allows you to blend into the shadows as you leave the room in search of answers and limits.

**I'm on the highway to hell  
Highway to hell**

…

Considering that Asgard and the royal castle are supposed to be more or less impenetrable there sure are a lot of guards. But guards are people and people are, well, simple. Thankfully, the Asgardians don’t prove to be anymore complicated than those at home, in fact, none of the motionless figures clad in golden armour even bother to ask what you’re doing out of bed as you hurry quietly down the halls in search of set of double doors taller than a house.

When you find the entrance to the throne room, you walk by as if perfectly disinterested and only come to a halt once you’re past the corner and into a stretch of the hallway with no one in sight. _Could work._

Only a few minutes have passed before the guards rush past where you’re crouched in the shadows, the catalyst a strange wail which they automatically attribute to the unusual shape in the darkness further on which they don’t know what belongs to yet, just that it’s not supposed to be there. Attention solely on the possible threat, neither guard notices the green flurry of movement that dashes away.

_Why in the freaking universe do they not event big doors that don’t weigh a shit ton?!_ At least you only need a narrow gap to slip inside the room, back against the door to make sure it closes without a sound. A few embers in the braziers in the wall sconces cast an unnatural glow like puddles of faded heat which hardly is enough to navigate by, so you send an unspoken excuse to the designer of the castle who thought far enough to allow the natural light from outside shimmer in through impossible arches at the very top of the walls, each showing a sliver of star-spangled night sky. The room is warped in shadows and splotches of cold light to create a scene from an old photograph with the imposing throne at the far heart of it all. No longer golden but silvery it looks even bigger now and should hold your interest better than it does, but your eyes are glued to the object stretching from armrest to armrest.

It does seem too good to be true even as you finally stand before the seat. Tentatively, you reach out to brush the fingertips along the metal shaft. _It’s real._ Gripping the spear firmly, there’s no immediate reaction other than a shiver from the nerves you suddenly find ablaze with worry and exhilaration. Lighter than it appears, the weapon slides soundlessly through the night air as you wield Gungnir for the first time.

_Probably last time too,_ you accept as you finally take a seat with the spear in hand. Before you are two sets of eyes belonging to predators and your only consolation is that rather than attack you, both wolves lift their heads to the ceiling and howl.

**And I'm going down  
All the way**


	13. Demanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I’ve had no prompts that I was able to fit well with sorting the mess I’ve landed our heroine and Loki in. However, I heard a song which I think is going to help and a sister helped with the rest. This chapter’s prompts are as follow: “A little wicked” by Valerie Broussard, Bifrost, and a heart.

… Loki’s PoV   …

The hollow sound cuts through walls and bones, through Loki’s very soul as he jolts awake in the cell within the very foundations of the castle. A blue shimmer runs across his limbs, but the fallen prince is oblivious to it as every part of his brain analyzes the options of defense against whichever unknown enemy Odin’s two wolves are warning the kingdom about. The beasts rarely make a sound louder than a barking greeting but now…this has only happened once or twice before in all of history when the ruler of Asgard had been in peril.

_[Y/N]._ Despite the woman’s odd position as a Midgardian guest introduced by Loki, surely the Einherjar or at least Thor will see to it that she’s safe. _If only she will listen to them._

… Reader’s PoV   …

**No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne  
Beware the patient woman, cause this much I know**

The heart’s thumping away rapidly in your chest as you see guard upon guard in gleaming armour line up in a circle all the way around the broad, golden throne where you’re sitting. At least the wolves have stopped howling, but it’s in favour of pacing the empty area between you and the spears that are lowered to point at you. _Well,_ you try to assure yourself, _it would’ve been too much to assume anything less._ Still it’s with a certain apprehension that you accept which course your actions have set you upon.

“[Y/N],” Thor’s deep voice comes from somewhere behind you, “what are you doing?”

You don’t dare to turn around, to look for the face that you _know_ will be radiating with confused concern. He’s taken kindly to you and it feels like you’re letting him down somehow. _He’ll understand later._ Keeping your head high and back straight, your eyes fix upon the gigantic door at the very end of the darkened throne room.

“Prince Thor,” you acknowledge, “is the king on his way?”

Coming around to stand before you, the blond god shoves one of the wolves unceremoniously out of his way, earning nothing more than a slight “yip”. “If all you wanted was to speak with father, I am sure a request would have been sufficient.”

The tone (though too rough) and comment are so familiar it makes your eyes sting. _Yes,_ _it might’ve been…but it wouldn’t send the right signal._ Guilt and frustration wars within you, the spear is slippery in your hands that are holding it so tightly your knuckles are tingling. One wrong word or move, and any of those weapons pointed at you will suddenly be stuck through you…or maybe you’ll have an up-close encounter with the biggest wolves you’ve ever seen. And all for some stupid, calculative, seductive Trickster. _I’m so fucked._

“An audience wouldn’t help much if the king doesn’t trust the extend of my dedication.”

“He would listen and consider any request.”

“Would he let Loki go if I asked him?” The silence and averted eyes are answers in their own right. “I thought so.”

“Yet this?” Strong arms sweep to encompass the scene around the opposing parties. “Lay down Gungnir, step down from the throne and let us talk.”

“I’d love to Thor…I really would.” For a moment you allow your steely appearance to falter, locking gazes with the prince through a haze. “But it wouldn’t help. Not anymore, because it won’t get me what –”

A thunderous impact of wood against stone signals the arrival of Odin stalking through the doors in a flood of torchlight that flickers and dances in the reflections of the armours of even more guards. Even from this distance, it’s obvious that he’s hastily dressed in something remarkably similar to a bathrobe, just not as fluffy. For a second, an image of the All-Father dressed in a pink, fluffy bathrobe and matching slippers appears in your mind but it’s chased away the moment you see his face contorted with rage. _Yeah…I’m dead._

“What,” he hisses, surprisingly calmly, “is the _meaning_ of _this_?” With long strides, Odin makes his way to the dais where everyone moves aside for him. Not you.

“Father, she clai–“

Thor’s cut off sharply: “Let her speak for herself unless you side with this _mortal_.”

_Ouch._ It’s hard to say what hurts the most, the venom laced into that last word or the way Thor looks to you pleadingly before stepping over to stand by his father.

“Your majesty,” you begin.

“So you recognize my authority, still,” Odin promptly challenges.

Managing to bite back a sigh, you count to ten before continuing. “I have no wish to denounce your rule, All-Father, you’ve been a kind host and I’m deeply grateful for the care and hospitality of Asgard.”

“Then enough of this nonsense. Seize her!”

You’re on your feet faster than you realize, the deadly sharp tip of Gungnir inches away from the old king as Thor and anyone else in the room pounces at you before stopping abruptly. _That was too fast…how could I do that?_ There’s no time to consider it now, though, your focus solely on the Asgardian before you who’s looking down at his own weapon aimed at his chest. Okay, maybe your focus is slightly divided because the hot air of a pair of predators is curling around your neck and arms, sharp teeth bared as a last warning.

“[Y/N]…” Even Thor’s stunned at the development. “What are you _doing_?”

“You said it yourself, and really there’s no doubt…” The words nearly get stuck in your throat, but the doubt and guilt is gone, leaving behind a wonderful peace that Odin clearly recognizes. “Let Loki return to Midgard. You can banish him all you want but let him out and let him live.”

“You risk your life for _him_?” A watery, blue eye challenges your sanity.

“Yes.”

Clearly exasperated, Thor reaches for you but stops at the motion from his father. “[Y/N], be reasonable. Loki would not want this…he risked _his_ life to save yours.”

“I know…and how am I supposed to live with that knowledge?”

**To the king, I will bow, at least for now  
One of these days a-coming, I'm gonna take that boy's crown**

…   Loki’s PoV   …

The howling has stopped. Einherjar have come and gone, at first whispering agitatedly amongst each other, but since then silence has fallen, laden with a different tension which can almost be tasted in the air. Chaos. Insecurity. Loki lives for these things, but normally he’s the one to cause them and being left out of the loop is infuriating to say the least. Pacing the bright cell, frost snakes from each footstep in tendrils towards the walls as the Jotun’s attention and concerns are anywhere but with himself, the only apparent consolation being that there appears to have been no bloodshed. _What has happened?_

Faint voices hint at new arrivals to the dungeons and Thor appears shortly after on the other side of the golden shimmer that keeps the prisoner safely inside the perimeter.

“Brother, what is going on? Is [Y/N] safe?” The words have left Loki’s mouth in a garbled hurry.

There’s an electric shine to the older brother’s eyes and… _is that…amusement?_ “If by safe you mean currently alive, then yes.”

“Don’t be cryptic, it suits you ill.”

This time a broad smile proves the suspicion. “Your girlfriend’s currently holding father at spear point.”

The words individually make sense but strung together like this and accompanied by the twisted amusement the meaning as a whole becomes blurred. Loki witnesses, as though removed from his own body, how the barrier is lowered and the brothers and a few einherjar leave the dismal dungeons.

Every nerve sing with the tension crackling from the people surrounding the slender prisoner, fusing his mind and body again. Oh, how he used to love that sensation. The thrill of watching others scrabble helplessly to understand and survive the chaos dragging them anywhere at once. This time it’s different because not only does he recognize the frantic uncertainty, Loki’s sharing in it. _What is she doing?_ The bafflement that had consumed the Trickster at first is replaced by an array of possible scenarios which all, somehow, grab his heart in a vice. _Spearpoint._ Glancing at his brother, the hope that Thor merely is jesting is snuffed – the warrior does not posses such humour. _Odin at spearpoint._ No such thing should be able to happen without the offender losing their life the instant the weapon was readied. _Unless…_

“The spear. _The_ spear.” Loke recalls the impossible weight of Gungnir perfectly although years have passed.

Thor grunts in approval. “And she wields it well, I may add.”

Two corridors pass in a seemingly endless blur before the group finally enters the grand hall through a side door, granting Loki an immediate view of the strangely twisted situation. A golden ring of nervous guards surround the only calm people, yet Odin and [Y/N] should logically be the most agitated in this scene due to the evident threat to their lives. The tip of Gungnir wavers delicately with each breath of the Midgardian. _Grace._ Unbidden, Loki appreciates the ferocious beauty of the woman, her body poised and controlled. Deadly perfection.

“Beloved.” She doesn’t flinch at his word, merely smiles. “What are you doing?”

“I’m negotiating your release.”

Moving closer, Loki sees the shift in the wolves standing at either side of the woman he loves. They are ready to attack her, tear out the delicate throat that has moaned his name so prettily. Only Odin’s order holds the beasts back. _Why hasn’t he let them?_ Soft wrinkles and fragile skin speak silently of the millennia the king has lived and the hardships he has navigated the kingdom safely through until reaching this very point in time and space where a mortal holds the king’s spear to the king’s own heart. A few delicate threads in the robe have already been damage by the sharp metal.

“You…decided the best way to plead my case was by threatening the All-Father with Gungnir?”

[Y/E/C] never leave the single pale blue before her. “Frankly, I didn’t _actually_ intend for this to happen,” the words are softened by her own chuckle, “I w’s snooping ‘round to learn more ‘bout what I’m up against…came here and saw the spear lying, so…I decided to try’t out.”

“Geri and Freki often spend the nights here,” Odin muses softly, “they saw you.”

“Correct, your highness.” The smile’s gone from the lips Loki has come to adore. “Forced to improvise then.”

Gentle, despite the stern voice, the woman explains her demands: in exchange for letting the king live _and_ get Gungnir back, she and Loki will be allowed to leave Asgard safely, banished once more for eternity or unless the verdict be retracted. She even apologises for the turn of events, admitting that it’s a poor way of repaying a life debt.

Silence returns while Odin considers the proposal.

**Hands red, hands red just like he said  
I am a little wicked**

Using the time to look around, the adopted son finds that more people have appeared in the shadows from where they watch nervously. Several faces are familiar such as Heimdall’s and Sif’s, old friends whom he abandoned and lost the right to count on, adding to the pain that drove Loki too far astray. _I got red in my ledger too._ No Asgard has long since seized being the fallen prince’s home.

“[Y/N] daughter of [Y/mom’s/N],” Odin announces loud enough for all to hear, “even if your actions had been limited to wielding Gungnir and sitting on the throne the sentence would have been eternal imprisonment.”

_Let her live, she does not understand our customs._ Loki can feel the nails bite into his palms, but he must stay calm or the pending verdict may become even worse. Gaze flicking from the two figures, an unconditional admiration takes root in his heart at the stoicism with which this fragile mortal is facing her doom.

“From our conversations, I have learned that you are intelligent and kind of nature and it leads me to believe that violence holds no interest for you,” Odin continues, earning a soft nod, “thus your motivation must stem from somewhere else…the love you have found for Loki…a love that he has proven with the breach of his sentence to be mutual.” The slightest quiver of [Y/N] lips threatens to break Loki’s resolve. “I remember love. There was not _one_ thing I would not do for my beloved Frigga.” A silent tear slips from Odin’s healthy eye. “I accept your terms, [Y/N] of Midgard. Upon my word, no ill shall befall you or Loki on my orders if you leave now.”

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Sometimes life can work out really well despite how hard you’ve tried to fuck things up. Staring at Odin, you feel your mouth fall open as what he just said seeps into your brain. _All right._ Slowly stepping back while trying to ignore the imposing presences of the wolves, you accept that the mad plan worked. _Yes. Right then._ Mouth closing, you still can’t shut up the inner voice that reminds you that _technically_ there hadn’t been a plan, just a stupid idea grabbed out of nowhere as an avalanche of troubles started rolling. _Okay. Yes. That’s it._ Both wolves step aside as you turn the spear for Odin to take. The moment it leaves your hands, you start shaking from all that has transpired.

“Thank you,” you manage to squeak to the king.

Old but strong hands grab your upper arms soothingly. “I do not condone of your actions…yet I have hope, the love the two of you hold for each other may be vital.”

Next moment it’s Loki’s arms around you and his hands tugging you so close you only can breathe in his scent.

It’s not really you, that walk with the tall, black-haired god through the city, along the Bifrost (which you only vaguely realize is one of the most breathtakingly gorgeous things you’ve ever seen) and into a golden sphere of magical, Asgardian technology. It’s a bit more you that bids the king farewell after listening to the consequences if you or Loki should return uninvited (death both or, if only one of you pulls such a stunt, at least for the trespasser and imprisonment for the other). It is however completely you, that feels the full force of the rainbow bridge hurtling you through the universe, dropping pieces of your organs and mind along the way. Or so it feels.


	14. Toughdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts are by a tumblr-darling: “Lose you tonight” by HIM, Istanbul, a fork. However, the originally suggested song had the ability to really get me down, so they suggested “Burning Desire” by Lana Del Rey...now...that worked very well ;)

## Touchdown

Tears are streaming from your eyes and your knees are weak, threatening to buckle under you. The cacophonic lightshow known as Bifrost has disappeared and all that’s left of it is a smouldering pattern on the ground around you and Loki.

_Loki._

Turning in the arm he’s wound around your waist you finally have a chance to look properly at him since the morning days ago. He looks healthier. Maybe. It’s kind of hard to tell because he’s so pale from nature (or whatever it is that makes him look human) and of course he’s still pale. But there are no dark bags under his eyes, and his lips are soft and pink, begging you to kiss them.

All too son, he pulls away. “[Y/N]. I should not indulge you but chastise you.” Still he pecks a series of tiny kisses onto your face.

“You’d rather be stuck alone in a cell?” The words are mumbled, half swallowed by your quest to find his mouth again.

A chuckle and sharp bite to your bottom lip is the price you get. “It was risky.”

“I’d already lost everything.”

Turquoise eyes find yours, boring into your soul while managing to retain their own secrets. _Almost_. A shimmer collects and dances before spilling onto the perfect cheekbone. Loki allows you to kiss it away, but as soon as the salt has touched your lips, the god embraces you tighter than ever before. You can feel his chest heave. Feel the tremble of his shoulders underneath your palms that seek to cradle him in return.

“But…you would have…lived!” Hoarse. Broken. Each word contains more pain and desperation than you thought this controlled man could show. “Ris-sking your lif–“

“Shut up!” Surprisingly, he does as you tell him, backs strained to see each others’ faces. “What good would a life _be_ if it’s spent in misery? _Gods_ , I sound like your _brother_ the way I talk! But you get it, _right_? You understand that I’d be _missing_ a part?” The words are rushed, interrupted by soothing noises and kisses. “Maybe…maybe smarter people would call it Stockholm Syndrome…I _dunno_ …an’ I don’t care! I just _know_ that while I was dying, I was holding on for _you_. And when I woke…it was _you_ I needed.”

“Please, don’t...”

“No, you need to under _stand_ this!” _Why doesn’t he want to accept it?_ “My life _is_ yours. I love you.”

It would’ve been neat to say the world stood still as you watched the words sink in, burn themselves into Loki’s heart.

But the way reality works, the only sudden event nearby is a bird chasing a cat away. Some insects are buzzing in the drying bushes on the other side of the grassy area, and at least the sun is shining hot and unforgiving, but the traffic noise in the distance continues relentlessly. And still, you wait for Loki to say something. Anything.

“[Y/N]…” he whispers, “nothing I can say will be enough…but I love you too.”

A breath you didn’t know you’d been holding escapes as a soft whine. All it takes to stifle it is to find the cool lips. _Soothing in the heat._ Oh, it’s warm alright, and dry too.

“Where _are_ we?”

The place where Bifrost has dropped you seems to be a sort of park on top of a hill, but it’s so dry that most plants have either withered or are the type that might survive in an actual desert. Beyond the hilltop, a city sprawls in all directions, rising and falling with the landscape beneath the buildings towards a glittering sea and a sort of canal leading in through the very heart of the metropolis. Alright, metropolis might be taking it a bit too far for a New Yorker, but it’s obvious even for you that this is a big and probably old place.

“I know this place,” Loki smiles, “Although it has changed since my last visit.” Squinting up at him, you wait for an explanation. “Welcome to Constantinople!”

“We’ve been dumped in Istanbul?” _Fuck, none of us have passports._

But Loki’s beaming, already weaving magic over the both of you to fix the appearance. “Is that what it’s called nowadays? Either way, no need to fret, my dear…I’ll take care of you.”

…

**You ask me where I've been?  
I been everywhere**

He hadn’t lied. Of course he hadn’t. As soon as the two of you had left the park, he somehow managed to hail a cab, and before you knew it, you’d arrived at a swanky hotel in the best part of town. It’d confused you for a moment that the concierge apparently knew Loki, but you were willing to forgive either of them when you were led into a mindboggling suite on the top floor.

Since then, you’ve showered and dressed (choosing from a selection of clothes that had been brought up to the suite) and now find yourself standing on the terrace. The rays of the descending sun have lost the bite and you revel in the breeze that carries a tang of salt and seaweed floating in the air over the low buildings or between the few wannabe skyscrapers. One of the first things you’d noticed were the minarets in the distance and you promise yourself you’ll use this opportunity to actually _see_ some of the world.

“I find the view magnificent.” Loki’s voice drifts from the open door.

Turning, you see him dressed perfectly in his signature black-on-black suit, hair still damp from the shower. “Mmmm, I don’t mind looking this direction though.”

You return the grin even though a heat springs to your cheeks at the way he’s looking your over. Lazily. Devouring you with his icy eyes. He ought to, though, because you’ve taken special care to find a figure-hugging green dress with black and golden accents. Although the front is relatively modest with long sleeves and high neckline (ignoring the tightness, though) the back is bare, skin visible through a cut-out shaped like a kite that shows off exactly what isn’t worn underneath.

“It can’t be _that_ long since you’ve been here since you know people,” you observe as you walk over to take his arm, allowing him to lead you away from the gorgeous lodgings, “where else can you expect a greeting like that?”

Rather than answer, Loki begins to tell you about the city and its convoluted history where diverse cultures have clashed again and again.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

There are many interesting people even in this measly realm known as Midgard. In fact, Loki might even go so far as to say that the world itself can hold a certain charm with the oddities there are to learn if scrutinizing the events of past and present. And the mortals? Naïve. For the most boring and grotesquely optimistic of their own importance. Of course, there are the Avengers which are entertaining in their own way. _Nothing compares to you, my love._

[Y/N] is listening to every word, [Y/E/C] eyes glittering with fascination at the sight of the ancient city walls where long forgotten armies had held the ancient capital under siege. It’s not the first time Loki notices how eagerly the woman absorbs information. Not only history, but anything from the position of a chair, the movement of another person, or the writing on a building. Nothing escapes her attention but is evaluated silently.

Coloured lips cradle the edge of the glass before sending him a slight smirk. Loki feels his body react to the way [Y/N]’s tongue delicately licks a stray drop from the bottom lip and his soul screams in protest as she excuses herself, disappearing further back into the restaurant with a sinful swaying of the hips and the perfectly sculpted back exposed to the gaze of everyone in the place. _Mine._ Pride mixes with the sting of jealousy towards those that stare for too long. But he cannot truly fault them for looking.

_Mine._

Memories resurface of the woman’s back arching, his own hands running trailing the spine and sides until his fingers dig into the flesh of the shapely hips to pull her closer. Hard and fast. Every movement met by a thrust of his hips that makes the feminine shoulder blades before him shift under soft skin and [Y/N] cry out in ecstasy.

The clink of cutlery against porcelain shatters the illusion, brining the god back to the present where his cock is straining against the trousers and his throat has gone dry.

**Your hands were on my hips, your name is on my lips  
Over over again, like my only prayer**

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Dinner hadn’t finished before you started teasing the god. Maybe the wine had made you braver, maybe the intensity of the last many days had made you reckless. Whatever the reason, you found immense satisfaction in watching Loki’s eyes darkened with lust and fixated on you each time you swiped the tongue over your lips or when you withdrew the fork from your mouth, careful to slow the action enough that it almost became lewd. For a moment, the god’s hands had disappeared below the table and an idea popped into your head and after checking the coast was clear, you slipped off the chair and under the perfect hiding spot created by the tablecloth.

The fork was still dangling from your lips, freeing you to crawl to Loki’s knees and slide your hands up his thighs. You could feel the muscles tense as he shifted in his seat, but it’s his cock that quickly had your attention as it was freed from the confines of his pants. His balls too, just for good measure.

Muffled by the table, the god’s hiss still reached you when your tongue traced the length of his erection. Hand and tongue played across the thin skin, quickly ensuring glistening precum to be swept across the head of the cock with each motion. And you hadn’t even taken him in your mouth.

Steps approached, a waiter asking if everything was to the satisfaction, when you decided to place the cold metal of the fork on the cockhead. No reaction. A slow drag of the prongs over the delicate skin of his balls had the wished effect of a stutter in the speech. It also paralysed his movement, though…and how were you supposed to ignore such an opportunity. Taking him in fully, you felt the shaft throb against your tongue as the tip reached and passed your gag reflexes in one smooth move. A shattering of glass could be heard from somewhere above you.

You don’t know how you’ve made it all the way back to the hotel without Loki losing his composure. He’s shaking, eyes dark and there’s even a hint of red seeping into the sclera from the edges. Not a word is spoken during the elevator ride, but his palm never leaves your lower back.

The moment the door to the suite closes behind you, he spins you and press your chest up against the wood. Arms twisted behind you back and legs nudged as far apart as possible by his knee, it surprises you that no fear rears its head even now when Loki’s got you at his mercy although you can feel cold radiating from his body.

“My pet,” he growls, breathing heavy against your throat, “are you _truly_ aware of what you have started?”

Tilting your ass slightly to rub against the bulge in his crotch, it’s impossible not to smile at his groan. “Oh…I know.”

The sound from Loki is feral and it’s a miracle he bothers using magic to rid you of your clothes before hoisting your over his shoulder. _Hell-o!_ Golden sparkles dissolves his own clothes, granting you with a view worth all the riches you’ve ever stolen. Never in your wildest dreams (prior to meeting him, of course) had you thought you’d end up loving the colour blue as much as you do now, but it’s possibly divine on the perky ass of his that shows perfect definition with each step through the suite. _Just out of reach._ Wiggling doesn’t bring your any closer, it only buys you a slap that makes your own ass sting and every muscle in your nether regions clench. At least Loki soothes the sting by stroking gently. Then a cold stroke flutters along the part of the folds that are easy to reach.

Without any warning, the world tilt and spins to make sure you landing, bouncing, on the bed, but as you try to get your bearings everything gets flipped around once more and you find yourself on knees and elbows with your ass kept in the air by strong hands on your hips. _Oh,_ is all you manage to think before you’re filled in one smooth thrust.

“Mine!” It’s a snarl, pulled from the depths of Loki’s chest.

Concentrating to formulate anything similar to a coherent sentence, you retort: “Your _what_?” You try to relax, hoping to acclimate yourself to the size of his cock.

“My _pet_ ,” he accentuates the nickname with a hard thrust, “my _queen._ ”

Core clenches tightly around the ridged member, making you both groan. It’ll be a miracle if he can last much longer before blowing the load, because he’d been denied that pleasure at the restaurant partially for fear of getting caught…but mostly to torment him. Now you’re dealing with the consequences. _Fuck yeah._

Perhaps there’s better sex to be had, but after seeing Loki so weak...after almost losing him…

“Ma-make me yours, my-y king!”

Your keening cry is the only argument needed for him to reach his high. His heaving chest against your back, the last few ruts of his hips are accompanied an almost painful bite on your shoulder that muffles his guttural growl.

**I've got a burning desire for you, baby  
(I've got a burning desire)**


	15. Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet Anon was kind enough to hand me the challenge of a medieval village, a book, and the song “Foreigner's God” by Hozier. Now, I’ve already used that song, but I love Hozier (who doesn’t?) so I wanted to stick with him….which eventually I didn’t so here’s “Pack up the Louie” by Caro Emerald. Sorry about that, Anon, this ended up very different than either of us probably intended, still I hope you like it!

It was paradise. Travelling from one place to the other, cities and countries you’d only ever dreamed of getting to see one you made the score that’d help you retired. Retire? Your old life of planning heists and dodging private security guards was far from the life you were living with Loki. Budapest had been the start where the god had seen your curiosity of the long-lost worlds, and so he brought you along to every Mediterranean Eden. You would never tire of it, listening to him tell about historical events as if he’d been there. He probably had, actually.

Some part of you knew the sweet life would end. Life does that to good times. It takes what’s good and right and stubs it out in the dust like a half-smoked cigarette, lipstick stain still on the filter. And if it wasn’t something tearing joy away, then you’d already realized the inevitable: Loki talked about history as though it was yesterday, because for him it _was._ Time moved differently for him than it did for you.

Why had you never thought of that before?

In the haze of warm sunshine, champagne and lazy kisses up your thighs, the two of you had created a little pocket of bliss outside of time. You were addicted to it. Never wanted the rush to end. And so that became your biggest fear because damn you if you almost hadn’t already. But the silver tongue and warm heart in a chest of ice could stem the nightmares as you’d fall asleep, sated in all manners of the word, in Loki’s arms.

**The clock rings and it’s half past eleven  
Can’t believe it but the time just flies**

Waking, sight bleary even with the soft light coming through the dark canvas above, you find the coolness of the god’s arm and chest still around you, but nothing else fits with your expectations. You’d fallen asleep in a bed with silk, a room of marble and open windows overlooking València and the sea…that’s all gone now.

It takes a few attempts to rub the sleep from your eyes, time where you become too aware of how scratchy the coarse wool and mismatched furs are against your bare skin. No, this is nothing like where you fell asleep.

“L-loki?” Twisting, you not only face your god, but another one too. “Loki, wake _up_.”

From somewhere under the mass of black hair, there’s a grunt in approval. Much can be said about him, but your lover loves a lazy morning. This time, however, he must sense something’s going on, because all of a sudden he’s on his knees, shielding you with his (very naked) bod, and knives in hands.

It must be said to the stranger’s credit, that he never seems anything else than annoyed despite the display. In fact…he doesn’t seem to take it half as serious as he should.

A heavy sigh escapes him, granting him time to pinch his own arm. “All…alright. I see. That’s just _nasty_! No other word for it!” Sighing again, he looks around the place and your gaze follows his. _Shit._ “Well, if my master findeth out, I shall be the one punished. Ye hath not long ‘fore he returneth. Taketh nought but what is your to take as ye leaveth.” With that he turn and exits through a tent flap.

“That…hurt my ears,” Loki complains.

You’ve never seen him suffer a hangover and his face of disgusted curiosity supports your theory that the way the man had spoken was weird beyond normal. Not as weird as waking up in a tent that could’ve been taken from a Robin Hood-movie, though.

Everything seems to be handmade, including the bed which seems to be pieced together on the spot and padded with straw and sheep skin. The red and blue canvas walls are thick, but not enough to block the unmistakable shadows of leaves in the sun, or the sound of voices. Happy voices.

Rounding on Loki, his evident surprise does absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Where…the _fuck…_ are we?!”

“Not València.”

“Oh, _really_?” The urge to slap him with a pillow is strong, but he’s faster than you and tugs it away. “What did you do?”

“What did _I_ do?” Perfect, black brows arch at your insinuation. “I didn’t do anything! I’m complete- well, maybe not com _pletely,_ just in thi- but _no_. I didn’t bring us here.” Turquoise eyes roam the room and your naked form. “Where- and whenever _here_ is.”

Pulling you to your feet, you allow him to do what he wants, knowing that whatever he’s got you into now it’ll be easier just to roll with it. Magic caresses your skin (lingering long enough in certain places to soften your mood) until you’re dressed in clothes more ridiculous than what you’d had to wear In Valhalla. Billions of layers weigh you down and it feels almost impossible to breathe due to a corset. Looking at Loki, the view isn’t quite as foreign because you’ve seen him in leathers and silks, and you envy the lightness of his clothes.

“What? _Loki!_ ”

But voices from right outside have you scurrying through a slid the Asgardian cuts in the tent wall, escaping the man that had given you a chance to run away before his master came back.

By the time you come to a stand still, it’s abruptly and smack into Loki’s unyielding form because you’ve not been paying attention, focusing instead on the ridiculously long sleeves that keep getting in the way. And shoes? Oh, the trickster’s going to hear just wrong everything is, that’s for sure! The problem’s just…it really doesn’t seem to be his doing. _Whatever “this” is._ Either way, doesn’t take a genius to fit the pieces together, now that you’ve stopped to think.

The language.

The tent and its contents.

The ridiculous clothes.

Medieval Europe has been represented plenty among some of the things you’ve “procured” over the years.

_The language._

…   Loki’s PoV   …

This is unheard of. Loki, God of Chaos and Mischief, waking up in a strange time and place with no recollection of how he got there. Glancing over at the woman, he appreciates what the outfit does for her figure for nothing more than a second (or two) before looking for cues on how she is dealing with this situation. _Mimir’s balls._ Nostrils are flaring, following the same rapid tempo of the bosom that is shackled by a corset and layers of fabric. Oh, she is furious, and it is all Loki can do to push aside the memories of how some of their very first encounters had been.

“Do not worry, [Y/N],” he promises tentatively, “I will see to it that we are returned.”

Even the bird that has been chirping prettily in the nearby tree falls quiet as she returns his gaze, burning cold with determination.

“Worry?” The bird flutters away with a protest. “You will make su-… _you_ are just as surprised as I am, and I’m plenty capable of doing the saving too.” For a moment Loki envies the bird, although the wrath is more likely a result of the situation itself. “In fact, _Loki_ god of _Mischief_ …I think I know what sort of place we are at.”

Without explaining, she stomps past him towards the clamouring noise of what sounds like a village, and he knows better than to argue at this moment. In fact, he quite enjoys witnessing the feisty side of [Y/N], though his appreciation might be tainted by previous experiences. So he follows dutifully until their reach the edge of the woods and stumble upon the type of scenery Loki recalls from his childhood.

Roughhewn, wooden cottages, stables with sturdy ponies and a donkey, a strangely new looking smithy, and where there are not actual buildings, there are tents or market stalls with an abundance of items. _Ah!_ _Market day!_ That would account for the high amount of people for such a small place. And where there are travellers, there will be plenty of information…and mounts more fit for a god than a woolly pony.

“I beg pardon, good lord,” [Y/N]’s voice rings from across the makeshift street, “mayhaps thou canst offer me direction to the Guild of Law or the Town Hall?”

Despite the loveliness of her voice the words jar Loki’s ears, but the stranger hardly raises a brow and merely explains the (very simple) route. Maybe his grasp of the spoken languages were not as correct as he had thought…still…

She leans in conspiratorially close, a smug smile on the perfect lips. “Oh, yeah, I’m so right! Look at the windows.” Doing so helps the god very little, and the devilish woman doesn’t give up the secret until she has laughed thoroughly first, but then: “The glass…it’s too clear, too perfect. And look at the paint, that’s modern too.”

…   Reader’s PoV   …

**Hearin' stories and a thousand lies  
About the things that I’d never do**

A lot of things begin to make sense when you get to the Town Hall. Like the geographical location: Mid-England, not too far from a place called Hucknall (although you’re still not sure how you actually got there). And the time? Still 2019 on the very day you had expected to wake up. And still, it’s somehow much more satisfying to see that you have been right in noticing all the little things that somehow are off even though it becomes easier to explain to Loki just what is going on when you finally stand with the so called “King’s Law”. Theoretically at least.

“Role playing?”

“U-huh.”

“You mean to say this is all fake?”

That one takes a bit longer to explain to him, how it’s an elaborate game of pretend for adults but that breaking the rules of the game is absolutely not acceptable. It becomes even trickier to harness his impatience when he learns that whichever punishment there would be dealt would be of no consequence to either of you.

“I know we’re not coming back, but don’t you see?” Noticing the disapproving look of a nearby LARPer, you tug Loki over to a corner. “Whoever sent us here wanted to annoy us or whatever…how about we play his game, but up the ante?”

Curiosity wins over frustration in those green-blue infinities. “What do you mean?”

“This place, these people…according to the rules and outline for the weekend, they expect the Magicians’ Guild to visit, maybe show some tricks. _Tricks._ You can do better than that.”

“I don’t do tricks for amusement like some jester.”

“Exactly.” His skin is blessedly cool on your hands when you draw him in for a kiss. “They’ll have no clue what hit them.”

…

**Is there a porter somewhere**  
For a lady in despair  
Can you help little me 

It started in the details like things disappearing and reappearing which wouldn’t have been alarming until the frequency of the incidents skyrocketed and everyone were talking about moving items within an hour, stressing the poor souls in charge of maintaining some order. _They_ were relieved when things resumed staying put…then a suspicious amount of even stranger sightings were reported.

“I _swear_ , sir, there _was_ a unicorn!”

“Madam! Thy book is _not_ a possum…”

“Hath thou any witnesses?” – “Ay, sir Walter.” – “Sir Walter…didst thou hear the tree talk?”

It might not be the LARPing group’s plan, but the big mystery of the day is how these things are happening. Of course, the incentive for figuring it out differs depending on the level of powerlessness for each individual (extremely high from the gamemasters’ while virtually non-existent for the players who manage to keep believing it’s essentially a matter of very clever tricks).

And still no one tries to stop you and Loki. _Time for the big show,_ you smirk as you prepare the final act to smoke out whoever has brought the two of you here. A kiss, a promise not to be scared by whatever will come, and then you start running from the forest, head over heels and yelling for people to save you.

Why?

Looking over your shoulder, you admit you would’ve been terrified at the monstrosity that haunts you. It’s a beast like none you’ve ever seen. Huge, tough and thick fur on the front half of the lumbering body while the hindquarters are covered in scales in the same venomous yellow as the leathery wings. Even with just two limbs (strong legs and big paws with deadly claws) it moves fast simply due to the size. _It’s just an illusion._ And still you try to speed up, hands fighting with the (pre-)shredded garb to keep yourself from falling.

It’s not until a tent is flattened under the beast that people seem to decide that they’re neither collectively hallucinating…nor watching a fancy show. Screams rise, agitating the creature so it roars with the draconic mouth open wide enough to count every single tooth, though most probably never get further than the set of fangs that drip with something that singes the grass below.

It’s chaos. Heart-pounding, gut-twisting, explosive chaos. The kind you’ve always avoided at all costs in your work by planning everything meticulously, preferring the satisfaction of perfection instead. _This is…_ your gasping is not just from running. Burning from within the veins is the pleasure of being in control in this living nightmare: the chaos is yours to command. Dark and addictive, like the sides of a god you know. And you don’t want to run, you want to stride purposefully to flaunt how you of all people are untouchable by this monster following in your footsteps.

_What?_ Chains of un-burning embers latch on to you from all sides and shackle you in place, restraining all but your head as you try to spot the one behind this twist of the scenario. And there he is. Tall and slender like Loki, you admit, and with the same slightly arrogant confidence in his own abilities even now that he stands calmly while everyone else is fleeing. _Guess we found you._

Like a ballet with hands, the man gathers the air (it’s the best way you can describe it) around him until the red cloak is flapping. Then he sends it towards the monster, not caring that you’re in the way to receive the force too. You land clumsily with a thud and an umph but manage to twist in time to see the illusion break apart like smoke, leaving everything intact once more.

“Loki!”

“I should have surmised it was you, Strange.” The god steps out from the smithy, a cold smile on the lips. “What’s this? Tired of playing games?”

Swatting the oddly active cloak aside, the wizard turns to face Loki. “We can’t let you endanger innocent people.”

“Please! They were never in danger.” The glint of green in his eyes is still one of amusement.

“These may not have been, but there are others out there…you been ignoring us and as su–“ Strange (because you recognize him from the news now) interrupts himself with a heavy sigh. “We need your help with…something.”

“Find someone else.”

You can hear it, the tension in Loki’s voice that you’ve come to learn has something to do with you. Maybe the wizard recognizes the nature of it, because he disintegrates the chains and even help you get back to your feet (and the cloak dusts you off – on it’s own!). It’s not until you’re safely back by Loki’s side that the men seem to return to business.

“Loki…trust me, we didn’t want to do this, but we need your help…the manner of getting you involved was your brother’s idea.”

Surprised by the admission, Loki’s head snaps up. “Thor planned this prank?”

“Yeah, now are you coming? They’re waiting at the tower for you and [Y/N].”

_Wait what?_ “Why me?”

The wizard’s surprisingly kind eyes meet yours. “You were brought in, dying from a poison…the least we can do is ensure that there are no lasting effects.”

And without further ado, he stirs the air to create a ring of embers through which a very different place can be seen. One with white walls hung with original artwork, sleek designed furniture in dark colours, and a handful of very serious looking superheroes.


	16. Of halves and wholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love your work, On my mind in your soul!!! Prompts: A collar, a chair, and “Movement” by Hozier. Hope this works for you ♥️”  
> That’s the words of a wonderful Anon whom I’ve decided will be the instigator to…well…you’ll see ;)

You move silently, body tight and breath shallow as you navigate the halls of the Stark Tower on your own. Dressed in your own training gear (which Romanoff had picked up at your place – without being asked to or told the address) the plan is to locate the gym because sitting cooped up is starting to drive you crazy. It’s been ages since Loki left with most of the Avengers. More than a week at least! After a heartbeat to count, you correct the estimation: three. Days. _Shit._

This is worse than expected. The tower isn’t your home, and not even a thirsting curiosity can distract you from the discomfort of being somewhere that takes your freedom and control away. Not to mention the people. Despite some shady backgrounds here and there, the Avengers stand for law and order and although they don’t put the letter of the law before the spirit of it…well, shared interests aren’t exactly plenty.

It’s more of a feeling than anything else that makes you duck into a spin where your water bottle is launched through the air. But instinct or not, the container nearly finds a target below the belt of the only one of the heroes you can talk to: Barton.

“Close call,” he mutters, but there’s a smile on his lips, “guess ye’re not much safer to sneak up on.”

You push to your feet, a bit frazzled. “At least I’m not carrying weapons all the time.” _Yeah, I’m not gonna feel guilty about this._

“Anythin’ can be a weapon.”

Barton lops the bottle back in a gentle arch, probably confident that you don’t stand a chance at beating him. Which you don’t. But still.

“That sounded like the Russian duo.”

The smile breaks with a snort of laughter. “Only one’s Russian. Sorta. But yeah, I see yer point.” He walks on the way you’d been headed. “So, let’s see what else yer capable of other than tamin’ an Asgardian and throwin’ bottles at nice guys’ private parts.”

_It’s all junk._

Silently appreciating that you’ve got a guide now, you follow the archer down a few levels and into the private and (according to Stark) little gym.

_Little my ass._ Filled with the best equipment money can buy, the place is bigger than any training center has a right to be and sports several pit-like areas which probably are meant for sparring. Of course there are also an actual boxing ring, several machines where the pins in the weight still are at uncannily high numbers…not to mention an actual _stack_ of sandbags by the wall. Bikes, treadmills, you could go on and eventually not even know what to call the different options for physical exercise displayed before you. _At least the smell’s like it should be._ Musty leather, dry sweat, and sanitizer. Your nose wrinkle at the familiarity, and a bit of the alienation you’d felt seeps away into the floor, leaving you calmer than you’d been for… _since I got here_.

“Alrighty, what ye know already?” Barton has found sports tape and wraps while you were ogling and is now waiting for you to hold out a hand.

You gingerly extend your left. “In terms of…what?”

“Self-defence. Martial arts.” He’s obviously done this before because his fingers move nimbly and without hesitation.

_What do I know?_ Sure, you’d taken a few classes and generally kept in shape enough to impress any common thug or rich client getting handsy. Then there was the stuff you’d tried to teach yourself like when Loki was…the memory makes you sigh quietly at the realization that that isn’t so long ago even though it feels like a lifetime. Things could have been so different now if you’d made other choices. Would your life have remained what it once was? Would it have been smarter if you’d run away…or simpler if you’d given in to the demands of the Asgardian? He would never have opened up to you, bared his soul the way he had done when he explained why the Avengers forgave him…

“Hey?” Barton’s voice breaks through the storm of thoughts. “Where y’at?”

Both your hands are wrapped comfortably. “Sorry,” you mumble, “uhm…no experience worth mentioning.”

“Cool. Blank slate.”

You follow him into the nearest pit, finding that the floor is slightly padded. “Tabula rasa.”

“…s’that like Hakuna Matata?”

…   Loki’s PoV   …

_What use is a wizard if he will not even ensure the quickest travel?_ Finally out of the dreadful confines of the jet, Loki can feel his body thrumming with impatience. The Jotun part of him is itching to break free from the restraints of the illusion and to be only with people he trusts unconditionally. And no, Thor - who is hollering after the raven-haired brother - does not exactly fit that bill.

Long strides bring him to the door that leads to what can be considered Loki’s quarters when he has to stay at the Tower. The god prefers his own home, but even he is a slave to practicality sometimes. And this time? A part somewhere in his chest does not disagree quite as much with returning to this place.

Without knocking, he barges in and is met with nothing.

A second stretches like elastic as Loki takes in the surroundings, finding no signs of foul play. The closet is ajar, a pair of jeans slung across the back of a chair next to it which has [Y/N] shoes tugged beneath. The wardrobe itself is near empty because neither resident had brought a lot with them.

This time the steps are rushed and nothing but pure self-restraint keeps the god from breaking into a running pace. _Self-respect. Dignity._ Loki tempers the roiling desperation, not wanting to let anyone else know exactly how great the urge to hold his mortal in his arms really is. _But where is she?_ Stopping, he realizes that he simply has stormed off in any random direction which is a perfect example on how not to search for anyone.

“ _Jarvis!_ ” the god snaps, for once appreciating Starks love for the disembodied servant.

...

**I still watch you when you're groovin'**  
**As if through water from the bottom of a pool**  
**You're movin' without movin'**

The Asgardian supposes he should be thankful for the facts that [Y/N] is learning to defend herself properly and for the fact that it is Barton teaching her rather than any of the others. The two men do not have a friendship, far from, but the archer had been the first to accept that Loki’s actions on Midgard had not been entirely of his own volition. And so a sort of unspoken understanding keeps them on common ground. Still, looking at the way the two sweaty bodies collide and wrestle for dominance awakens a jealousy within Loki.

_Why do I stay in the shadow?_ It would be simple, stepping forward and claiming the woman he has come to consider his. _[Y/N] would be furious if I treated her as a possession…_ and the god stays in the shadows to watch. And what a sight it is.

With careful perfection, she copies the trainer’s movements. Already, her motions are fluid and lithe, a show of confidence that empowers the once-upon-burglar more than Loki thought would still be possible, and he could swear on the Norns that no other sight is as captivating. Sleek muscles dance under glistening skin of back, arms, and shoulders with each strike or block. Strong thighs (that have been wrapped around his waist as pleasure wrecks the perfect body) powers each step as [Y/N] drives forward in a tantalizing onslaught. Full of potency and with satisfaction showing on the curved lips. _My warrior._

A change in movement, bodies too close for Loki’s liking as the archer wraps the woman in his arm before spinning her away. Only as Barton backs out of the sparring match, does the Asgardian realize that he has marched to the pit. He can feel the jealousy spread like ice over his skin but can hardly find it in himself to stall the transformation…and either way: the bowman is leaving already.

“Loki?” The female voices reaches him through a fog of rage. “What’s up?”

She is so soft in his clawed hands, so pliable as lips meet with a force that clicks their teeth together. “ _Mine,_ ” Loki mumbles in between the hungry kisses.

“Mm!” He does not allow her to break away fully. “M’not…a thin’… _oh_ …you own!” Even so, she is returning each demanding action with a vigour.

“Still…mine…” [Y/N]’s skin is scalding on his lips as he trails the elegant jawline before latching onto the tender spot below the ear. “My pet.”

Nails scrape against his scalp, sending shivers down Loki’s spine. “No pet…” she whimpers, arching into him in response to the hands stroking her body, “got no collar.”

Finally pulling back, the god is met with a lust-blown gaze. Mouth half-open and chest rising and falling rapidly, she looks so prettily ruined. “Oh, but my dear…you _do_ have a collar.”

And as he speaks, it appears in a shimmer of sparks: thick, green velvet edged with gold and no buckle or joint anywhere for [Y/N]’s probing fingers to find. He sees the challenge rise in her eyes, but simply decides to scoop her up onto a shoulder and carry her away.

… Reader’s PoV   …

Without anything sharp, there’s no way you can get the new accessory off and slung over the Jotun’s shoulder ( _Must be his “thing”_ ) you really can’t do anything about anything. Instead you wait patiently. Almost patiently. With each step, Loki brings you closer to his room. With each step, he tells you all the dirty things you’ve been longing for while he was gone, making you squirm to prolong the contact as he massages your ass and legs, ghosting close to your clothed pussy when the nimble fingers explore the inside of the thighs.

But when the door finally does close, he doesn’t drop you on the bed, but perches you on a hard chair and before you know it, your ankles are tied to its metal legs and you wrists connected behind its back.

His face is so close you can recognize a turquoise shade in the sea of red. “I might not own you, love, but you’re still mine to do with as I please.” A large hand wraps loosely around your neck, thumb stroking the collar. “If you’re a good pet, I’ll reward you.”

_I’ll show you “pet”._ Like a dog wanting to lick its owner’s face, you try to rush forward but are stopped by resistance from the neckband. _What the –?_ His smirk chases away the confusion – the bastard has tied the collar to chair too. You can’t move more than a few inches, leaving you completely at his mercy. There’s no doubt in your mind that he would set you free if you truly wanted him too…but you don’t.

**When you move  
Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free**

Instead, you watch as he straightens before you, deliberately slow as he peels off one layer of clothes after the other before he stands naked.

“God,” you moan, following the ridged lines across his shape with your eyes.

His hand drops to stroke his growing cock lazily. “Correct. _Your_ god, am I not?”

A nod is enough. And one more when he’s kind enough to ask if you want to taste him. Stretching as far as you can, you meet him with your mouth, tongue guiding him closer until you sit relatively comfortable again.

It’s messy at first, almost every lick and nibble along the shaft makes his erection bob up and down as if it too is nodding, but when Loki grabs the base the balance in power shifts slightly in your favour. Groans and subtle rolls with the narrow hips as your lips draw his cock in inch by inch until you nearly gag on it. Sure, size isn’t all and the dimensions of the Jotun erection can seem intimidating if it wasn’t for your intimate knowledge of how talented Loki is with it. Right now, however, you’re spellbound by the sinful sounds and twitches as you trace the ridges with your tongue and suck greedily to create a slobby vacuum.

“Such a…good pet…” His breath is ragged and thighs trembling as he dig the clawed hands into your hair for stabilization.

It’s hard to smile with a face full of cock and your jaws ache at the strain. “Mmmmm-mmm?” you hum before circling the crown with your tongue to lap up the salty taste of precum.

With a pop, he pulls out, stumbling back a step to take in the view of you there, drool dripping to your chin and a devilish grin because you may be tied up but aren’t powerless. Innocently, you bash your lashes up at him, making a deal out of admiring the athletic form. _Damn, so fuckable._ Your clit throbs with each heartbeat and you try to shift on the seat to soothe the need for some release.

Red eyes lock on the movement, glimmering with decisiveness. “Yes,” he whispers more to himself, “and good pets are rewarded.”

Falling to his knees between your legs, the cold of his body soothing on the hot skin, he kisses and licks the worst of the saliva from your face before tracing a path to the neckline of your top. Even through the layers of fabric, Loki can see the puckered nipples to bite them just hard enough for the sting to make you moan with want and distract you from the appearance of a blade. Rrrrrrrrp, and the front of your clothes splits to reveal your breasts and stomach. You would’ve scolded him if he hadn’t been so talented with his tongue and lips, making you arch your back and tilt your hips harder into the hand he’s holding onto you with.

When the god reaches the top of your shorts, there’s no denying the dangerous cold of the blade as it slips between skin and elastic fabric, but this time, you couldn’t care less that more clothes is ruined as long as it grants him access. Scraps fall to the floor, hand reach under your ass to lift and tilt your pelvis a bit and then… _gooooods!_

…   Loki’s PoV   …

**Move me, baby  
Shake like the bough of a willow tree**

Such sweet sounds with each stroke of his tongue, a danced melange of broad, slow, piercing, and fast until her lust is dripping onto the seat. [Y/N] has fallen back and her entire body is undulating with power that is building up within, like water behind a dam waiting to be released. _Fine._

Never stopping the delirious torture, Loki only needs a thought to undo the bonds - although the collar stays (he likes the symbolism of it). And before she understands what is happening, he lifts her to the bed. Only then, as he lays down on his back, does his mouth leave her folds so he can see her captured in his grip above him. _Perfect._ Eyelids flutter and breasts rise and fall rapidly against the tension of being on the verge for so long, already the woman is reaching for some way to find release. _Mine._

The Jotun physique is domineering and raw in its need, but Loki manages to move agonizingly slow as he lowers her onto his cock and then setting a snail-like pace for the next dozen thrusts until she whimpers in frustration.

“Pleeaase!” The mortal’s gaze is clouded with lust and desperation.

How can he deny her? Rutting upwards, the speed and depth of each stroke are increased, and the much smaller hands hold on with all they can to his much bigger wrists. Pretty cries fall from her lips, growing louder as a warning, together with the tightness of her cunt, of the impending ecstasy. _There!_ All of [Y/N] seizes and shudders with bliss. Back arched, breasts pushed upwards, and the sight is beyond anything the god could ever want.

Rolling clenches of her core pushes him over the edge with such a force that everything disappears in a darkness where the only reality is the blurry shape of the woman. Her heat and his cold mingles, and Loki knows he must have cried out her name, but it is not until he comes to his senses with the mortal in his arms that he realizes it. _Never another._

“Mine,” he whispers into her hair.

The god can feel her smile against his chest. “Yours.”


	17. Lost and found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is kindly given (read: thrown in my face) by wonderful a wonderful friend: ““Cosmic Love” by Florence & The Machines; if not Asgard then Rann of Kutch (at night because why the fuck not); and a cummerbund (like a thin studded strip around the waist, if that makes sense).”   
> It makes sense. And you know the drill by now (otherwise this is the second to last chance to figure it out).

## Lost and found

Loki is nervous and you can feel it with every fiber of your being. It isn’t like him. Restless? Sure. Agitated in any way that involved flexing his superiority somehow? Been there, done that. But nervous…now that’s different, and it makes the hairs stand on end while shadows morph into stuff of nightmares for nothing more than a second.

Maybe you shouldn’t have insisted on knowing what was going on, but the curiosity had gotten the better of you the day you’d heard Clint insist that it wasn’t up to Loki to decide.

_“Decide what?” you asked, walking into the room to find more than the two of them. All of the Avengers were there, and they were staring at you in a way that made your skin crawl._

_“Nothing to worry your head about, beloved.” Loki attempted to divert your attention by kissing you on the sweet spot below your ear, earning him an exasperated sigh from Stark._

_“Oh no,” sarcasm dripped from every single one of Natasha’s words, “nothing except your expertise being needed, but Loki won’t share.”_

_Pulling back from your lover’s embrace, you looked from one to the other. “Mine?”_

That’s how you’ve gotten involved in the work that you’d promised never to get into. _Heroing._ A little smile settles on your lips at how backwards everything has become. Dark marble under your feet sends the footsteps of you, Loki, and other tourists tumbling between the hard walls that only sparingly are adorned with paintings or tapestries of historical value. Still, if you bothered to look then this would be a treasure trove for your curious brain…but you are here for one thing.

“How can you smile?” Loki hisses as you both pause before a statue, pretending to admire the chiseled-off cock.

Shaking your head gently, you pull him down for a chaste kiss. “Is the lie too hard to sell, my dear? Silver Tongue, hmm?”

Winding him up like that probably isn’t a smart move, but you need to stay on top of things for this to work. The pen flits over the glossed map of the museum, jotting down positions of cameras, sensors, and ventilation shafts. The museum has been carefully selected to offer the right type of possible loot in combination with the strategic placement of the building to make it difficult to get away quickly which is actually something that keeps your nerves steady for once.

Several of the Avengers would be able to pull a heist off on their own, but none of them would work a case like you do and that’s the point. Without having seen your style, they can’t fake it. And it’s you that’s needed in order to set the trap for the unnamed villain that’s trying to get to Loki through you. _Villain._ It sounds like something from a 60’ies movie. Still, here you are, discreetly trying to get noticed by a veritable bad guy in the hopes that he’ll take the bait, show up for the “heist”, and as a result get himself caught in an ambush.

Glancing up at Loki, you feel better about the plan than he does. _Don’t worry, babe, I got you to save me._

**A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes**

…   Loki’s PoV   …

_Imbeciles!_ Had he not objected to the so-called plan? Had he not been clear what the risks were? _And look at where that got us!_ Snarling at the biting wind, the god lets the engine of the motorbike rev as he regains balance after rounding the last corner on the way out of the city. He is vaguely aware of the squabble among the Avengers as they divide the forces between repairing the quint-jet and scouring the area for clues. _Clay-brained mongrels._

Oh, they have told him to step down, to let them do the work the moment it was clear [Y/N] has been taken. Fearing that he may do something rash, Romanova has been tasked with keeping an eye on Loki…and she will for a bit longer until the distance between the Asgardian and the illusion of him becomes to great, causing the decoy to fade. The old resentment still lingers within him, making it impossible for the former enemy to trust the Midgardian heroes with something as important as retrieving [Y/N]. _At least it is mutual._

Shifting the seiðr, Loki focuses on the only consistent trace from the not very safe safehouse.

_I should never have left her alone._ Admittedly, she had ordered him away, claiming she could not concentrate on the plan when he kept pacing back and forth, and because the four others were there, he had grudgingly accepted and wandered off to the market.

The trail he follows shimmers in the light from the setting sun. Flattened, sandy crusts with salty minerals that makes the Asgardian think of the icy expanses of his actual home world despite the heat radiating from the ground beneath the tires. Soon, the day will come to an end, leaving only the stars to illuminate the open desert.

Loki feels the change in his magic, warning him a second or two before Natasha’s voice cuts through the communications device. Curses, in Russian and a few other languages, make the earplug crackle.

“Reindeer Games,” Stark’s voice sounds flatly, “where y’off to?”

“If I had any intentions of sharing that knowledge with you then I would have told you before departing.”

The archer quips something about almost having the jet ready.

“Was that you? The jet?” Rogers asks.

There’s a soft chuckle from Natasha. “’Course not, Cap, otherwise Tony and Clint couldn’t fix it.”

“Thank you.” _At least the wench understands and who would I be to deny it._ “I shall inform you when [Y/N] is safe once more.”

“Loki…” Even through the device, it is clear that the Captain does not approve. “Don’t do anything…rash.”

“I would _never…_ ” he proclaims before tossing the communications device to the ground. Of course, that depends on what someone would consider rash.

Either way, the god is gaining on his target. All through his body, the adrenalin is surging with the thrill of the chase and the figuratively magnetic attraction of a very special woman. _My queen._

**And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat  
I tried to find the sound**

…   Reader’s PoV   …

You’re not entirely sure what you realise first. It might be how bad your head’s hurting…however, equally uncomfortable contestants are found in the numbing tightness around wrists and legs as well as the distinct roughness of something that’s been pulled over your head. At least the fabric isn’t very dense, so you can still breathe relatively freely. _I can see through the mesh._ The discovery itself is great…the view not so much because it’s very dark, leaving you mostly with the rumbling motion and an oily smell to go by. _Car…van._ Maybe the brain is trying to squeeze out through any orifice in your skull, at least it feels like it.

”I think she’s awake,” a surprisingly intonationless voice offers.

”We’re all-e-most there.” That voice is distinctly male and accented like an Italian.

_Two guys._ Twisting carefully, it’s not easy to get either within view, but you manage to locate the owner of the first in the shadow behind the driver’s seat (where the second must be). _I can deal with that._ The optimism doesn’t quite seep into you as much as you would’ve wanted, but you keep encouraging yourself as you roll about on the floor of the van until you’re in a position where you dare to test the restraints. _Crap._ It’s not just cheap tie rips, but proper rope.

”I wouldn’t do that, little lady,” the androgynous voice offers, ”we know our knots.”

_It’s a gamble._ ”Why tie me up at all? ’S not like I can do anything ’gainst two people.”

”Just a precauzion, you see.” It sounds like the driver’s smiling. ”Padrone ‘as…euh…demands!”

For several minutes, the only noise is the rumbling of the engine as you’re brought further and further from the people who should’ve protected you from this. At least the first part of the plan had been a success: getting spotted as you were ”planning the heist”. Admittedly, the next part had been to plan said fake heist in a way that allowed the Avengers to apprehend the wannabe kidnappers _before_ they got to you.

Still, you don’t exactly feel scared but more a sort of…inconvenienced? Embarrassed? At the moment, you’re not really sure what it is because of the pain.

“Did you guys literally _knock_ me out?” you groan.

“Sí,” is the answer from the driver.

“Boss’s order?” That would place one more on the list of who to bash around the head.

“Little lady’s got a point.”

“Mamma mia! Just ah … _zitta_ and get ‘er ready!”

Someone grunts and then big hands grab you by the upper arms, hoisting you into a sitting position before getting to work. In the dim light of dashboard, you see a knife glistens on the other side of the canvas supposed to blind you. _Oh, that sucks,_ you manage to think before the cold steel tears through the fabric of your shirt. Just the fabric. Shred by shred, the cotton-blend is removed, exposing your bra and the tiger’s eye pendant on the golden chain. Goosebumps have spread all over your body, and now the fear is there alright. On another occasion, you might consider how the pain apparently has disappeared from one second to the other, but all you do manage is to sit stock-still despite the rumbling of the van. Barely breathing and tense like a spring while waiting for the unavoidable doom – whatever it may be. _Loki!_

You don’t expect a flashlight and ruffling of paper nearby. Nor the cool touch of rich fabric carefully being wrapped around your chest. Only then are the bra straps snipped and gingerly tugged away under the new layer.

“Sorry ‘bout this, miss,” the surprisingly gentle kidnapper mumbles as he grabs your waist.

Cut by cut, the shorts go the same way as the t-shirt did earlier until you lie there on the hard floor with nothing by a minuscule g-string and ropes on your lower body. Even if the immobilizing fear isn’t gone, it’s being replaced by a burning sense of shame. _This is not my doing. I have nothing to be ashamed of!_ The words echo like a near-forgotten mantra in your mind.

“I need to stand you up on your knees, little lady,” the handler explains.

He wouldn’t actually need your consent, it seems, because he’s perfectly capable of moving your around as if you were a doll. But he does it gently, and the careful manner is continued when something like a skirt is wrapped low around your hips. Soft, flowy material that tickles you thighs and calves, yet held in place by a broad strip of the same stuff that’s wrapped around your upper body (well, technically just enough to cover the boobs). There’s a shimmer of purple in the flashlight as your stylist inspects the result. A breathed “oh” precedes a metallic jingling, something cold touches your skin before settling on the broad top-hem-thingy of the skirt.

“All ready,” your fashionista slash abductor announces.

“Perfetto.”

Already, you can feel the van slowing down, so you’re ready for when the breaks are applied inconsiderably enough to bring the contents of the vehicle crashing. Landing awkwardly (and painfully) on the side with a jingle, you add to the tally of things to be pissed about.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

**I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map  
And knew that somehow I could find my way back**

The cold light of the stars is cast back from the shimmering ground, making it easy for Loki to spot the structures as dark silhouettes against a world of silver. A couple of vehicles and several tents, most of which seem squalid in comparison to one. It’s the only one illuminated internally, adding circles in flowery patterns to bring colour back into the night. Orange hues come and go as the light source sways and people move to block the rays.

Undoubtedly, less dangerous men would abandon the noisy motorbike and cover the rest of the way on foot to ensure the element of surprise, but of course Loki does not need to bother with such details. Whoever is at this camp have made the mistake of angering a god and nothing can save them now.

Leaping of the machinery in the middle of the temporary village, the first guards (mercenaries, really) are already approaching with their weapons at the ready. None of them reach Loki, falling instead to the ground with knives buried in their chests.

“[Y/N]!” he yells, wanting to confirm his suspicion on where she is kept.

A half-choked yell. The sound of glass shattering. Then finally an answer, although it is from one of the supposed guards: as the only survivor within line of sight, a male abandons his weapon in favour of holding his hands above the head.

“She’s in there.” Nodding towards the large tent, a streak of grey mimics the shade of the vast landscape. “Alive and pissed, which is fair ‘cause kidnapping’s not okay even for me.”

Tilting his head minimally, Loki eyes the man. “You think your panic-laced words will save you?”

Clearly trying to find the right answer, the mercenary eventually gives up and shrugs instead. “I’s…kinda hopin’ that, yeah…got morals and shit, but I need the money and it’s hard to get out of this business.”

_Honest, amusing…although still a sorry excuse for a Midgardian._ “Go.”

There is no need for repeating the order, and the man hurries off, mumbling something under the breath about “why me” and “again”. It is of no relevance for Loki, however, who has turned his full attention onto the silent tent before him.

Without wasting another second, the god dashes through the lose-hanging flaps of the entrance. The knives in his hands look like fire solidified, deadly, ethereal, yet they never fly gracefully through the air as intended but fall to the canvas under his feet as he takes in the sight. Two figures splayed lifelessly on the ground with a third standing above them, the stance a fierce display of the person’s will to live and clashing perfectly with the delicate attire that barely covers the perfect body.

“About time,” [Y/N] announces drily as she straightens up, “even had to get my hands dirty.”

Glancing at the male figures on the ground, it is with a certain relief that Loki can see that they still are breathing. Would he mind that the love of his life had killed someone? No. But he would feel at fault that it had been necessary.

A flutter of purple and pink hues is all it takes for the god to be staring at the woman, appreciating the curves and show of skin displayed before him. A few steps, then she is in his arms and he gets to let his hands roam her shape under the pretence of ensuring she is unharmed.

By the time the examination clearly has a different purpose, [Y/N] slaps him away with a teasing growl. Their lips are swollen, and hair mussed from something else than the fighting. Loke is just about to come with a suggestion when the sound of a familiar jet-engine announces the arrival of Romanova, Stark, Rogers and Barton, effectively spoiling any fun that the couple could have had.


	18. Satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter and is based on a prompt by @liesje86: “Uhm. “Simple man” the cover with Jensen Ackles, a white sandy beach on Hawaaï or something, and two identical daggers.”   
> Also...I didn't proof read, so bear with my horrible attempt at Englishing. I just really wanted to share this.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

There are moments in a child’s life when they look upon their parents and wonder “what if”. What if the parents had never met? What if they never had decided to have children? Then the kid wouldn’t be in the world or maybe they’d be an only child or…

Thinking back, Loki’s thoughts had often been related more to the question of “why”, as in “why did his parents love each other” or at the very least why the love between them was so different and apparently impossible to spill over onto the youngest prince. No, that wouldn’t be fair to say, because Frigga did love her son and she did her best to make sure he knew that. Just like she would comfort him when he was sad or guide him when he felt lost. Frigga, queen and mother, was the one person Loki could come to for support or philosophical discussions. She was the one that saw his future as something bright and blessed, and she would spin tales rivalling the best penmanship to instill a longing within the heart of the young prince for all that was to come.

**Mama told me when I was young  
Come sit beside me, my only son**

…   Reader’s PoV   …

_This. Is. Quality._ Stretching towards the cloudless sky above you, it’s all you can do not to spontaneously start giggling at the feel of the ocean lapping over your feet and caressing your ankles. Cool on your hot skin but not too cold that a swim would be anything else than heavenly tomorrow…today’s too late because the jet only touched down an hour before earlier and now the sun is setting across the endless ocean.

For more than a year now, Loki has been escaping with you to the most wonderful places on earth (so far) between working on missions with the Avengers. It’s not a life you expected even with the Asgardian as your partner in crime. Crime. Yeah, not a whole lot of action’s been going on on that front, obviously, and still somehow…you’ve got more than enough challenges to keep your mind occupied. Heists have been replaced by rescue operations; artifacts replaced with weapons. At least the way of working is still relatively the same in terms of intel and planning.

Cool hands snake around your waist, pulling you backwards against the hard planes of muscle of a similar low temperature, making goosebumps spread across your skin.

“I should have known you’d abandon me with the unpacking in favour of this,” Loki mumbles into you hair.

You turn partially in his arms, wanting to be able to kiss him but not wanting to give up the scenery beyond the glittering sea. “Can you blame me? Look at that view!”

Leaning back from the embrace, the god’s attention isn’t on the sunset. “Breathtaking.”

Then he holds you close, preventing you from saying anything until the sun finally disappears beneath the horizon in a display of orange and purples and anything in between. _Breathtaking, yes._

…   Loki’s PoV   …

Unpacking had, in truth, been a simple task for the god who simply had left the butler with that responsibility (with the exception of one specific piece of luggage) and as the chef was already preparing the lavish dinner, Loki had found himself pacing. Restless. Nervous.

That very same insecurity still hunts the pale man all through dinner. He dotes on [Y/N], feeds her bites from the ridiculous amount of tiny dishes that have been prepared and offers her cool wines. But Loki can barely swallow a morsel himself.

His gaze is locked on the softly coloured lips that send him a shy smile. They are small talking, and it’s a challenge to stay focused on the subject when joy sparkles in the [Y/E/C] of the perfect woman’s eyes. Nimble fingers fidget with glass or delve into the silken hair that by now has become messy from the travelling. Messy, but oh so right, bringing attention to the wildness that bubbles just below the surface of her.

That’s who she is. His wild kitten. Intelligent, fierce, approaching any challenge with a calculative silence until she succeeds and lets go of the inhibitions for a while. Morals? [Y/N] never claims to be an angel, yet she has managed to show the god a different way – the way Frigga spoke of hundreds of years ago when Loki was a child in need of comfort and hope. Life had indeed turned out slightly different than what his mother had predicted because there is no Asgard and royal life (even as nothing more than a prince) and no plans of ruling or being distinguished beyond the scope of mortal man. It is…simpler.

“Hon?” [Y/N] manages to get through the fog of thoughts.

Her furrowed brows don’t relax until he has promised that everything is fine. “I was merely thinking…of you, in fact.”

“Oh?” A coy smile dances on her mouth. “Am I in trouble?”

“When are you not?” Loki can’t help but laugh. “ _You_ could be the _Goddess_ of Mischief. Do not feign innocence when we both know it was you that swapped out everyone’s underwear.”

[Y/N] disguises a grin behind the wineglass, and when she moves the glass from her lips a seriousness has returned. “But what _were_ you thinking? I know it was something serious…”

**Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself  
Follow your heart and nothing else**

…   Reader’s PoV   …

You watch with both wonder and concern as the god they call Silver Tongue struggles with his words, opening and closing his mouth several times as a faint red sheen crawls into his eyes where the pupils are blown. _That bad?_ Reaching for his hand, you’re afraid he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t. Cold and slightly damp against your palm…and trembling.

”Please, Loki…” you begin softly, stroking his knuckles with your thumb.

The cold spikes and he pulls away, breaking a piece off your heart. ”Excuse me.”

He doesn’t even stop to pick up the chair after he topples it over in his eager to get away from you. _Why?_ A cold, his cold, has gripped your chest so hard you have to struggle to breathe. _What did I do wrong?_

You’ve wanted to deny the signs, but this can’t be unseen. For weeks now, he’s become increasingly withdrawn, preferring solitude or simply losing focus, and it’s been getting worse even with a short respite after he and Thor had been away to some other realm or planet or whatever. For a few days things had seemed normal, then it started all over. This is the worst yet.

Bit by bit, lessons you’ve let from your new co-workers (especially Natasha) start to surface, diluting the self-deprecation with a healthy amount of anger and determination. _Trucker turd!_ Your own chair screeches across the marble floor. _I’ll be damn if I let him make me feel crappy on a vacation like this!_ And with that in mind, you march off the way Loki had gone.

You find him in the bedroom, crouched by his suitcase with the back to the door.

“Okay, listen up, mister!”

Hands on your hips and a solid footing, you plant yourself a few steps behind him. _Gorgeous bedroom._ The thought zips through your mind unwanted and you push it aside for now, ignoring the probably gorgeous view from the huge windows and balcony beyond…and the grand bed to your left which you’d been hoping to “break in” tonight rather than scold a god. But that’s life sometimes.

“I know, [Y/N],” Loki admits quietly, the tenderness in his voice catching you by surprise, “I’ve been…absentminded and distanced lately.” His back is still toward you, but you know the sort of pain showing in his eyes anyways. “You deserve more than that, I know, because you are…you have changed my life and me for the better.”

“Darling…”

The distance isn’t even reduced by a single step before he motions for you to stop. To wait. His shoulders rise and fall before he finally straightens his back and swirls around to face you. Still on his knees. _Oh…_ Turquoise eyes root you to the spot. Big hands holds a footlong box.

“I wish could tell you all the reasons I love you…but there’s not enough time in the universe for it.” A dextrous tongue swipes his bottom lip. “Lady [Y/N] [Y/L/N], will you allow me to be your husband?”

With those words, he flips the box open to show the contents, but the world is becoming a blur to you, spinning the room slowly. _Oh. Oh no. Not…how…_

“But Loki…I’ll die from you!” You can hear it yourself, how broken your voice is.

As the first tear falls and your vision clears a bit, you see the man you love put the box aside and stand. His strong arms encircle you, holding you tightly against his chest. A part of you wants to push away, to save him from the real pain later by leaving him now because after all: it had been your plan to leave him eventually, so he didn’t have to see you grow old and die.

“My dear, I know your reasoning,” he whispers in your ear, soft kissing landing on your cheeks and lips, “I would not want to miss out on even a second of your life, I’ll be by your side forever because nothing can change what I feel. Please let me…if you truly love me.”

Pulling back as much as his embrace allows, you frown at him indignantly. “I _do_ love you!”

“Then please…” He guides you to sit on the foot end of the bed before retrieving the box once more and kneeling again. “Please let me be yours.” The dark wood is padded on the inside with golden silk, cradling two nearly identical daggers perfectly. “I know of the Midgardian customs with the rings…however I thought you would appreciate the tradition from Vanaheim where the betrothed couple each carries a twin dagger, bound by magic and echoing the heartbeat of the person that carries the twin…”

“I’d always be able to sense you…”

He nods, proffering the box. _And they’re gorgeous too._ Of course he’s right in thinking you’d prefer this over a ring. The handles appear to be frosted glass with smoky tendrils of Jotun-blue at the centre and a bead at the very end while the blade itself is silvered and perforated by runes.

Those spell out Loki which means the other dagger has your name on it. Lifting the Loki-blade, you recognise the quality of the craftmanship.

“That would be the one you would carry…if you choose to…” the god trails off.

Carefully, you return the weapon to its place. Then you close the lid and set the box aside before sliding onto the floor.

“I hate the idea of breaking your heart…but I hate the idea of being without you too. If one day you realize you can’t watch me grow old, then promise me we say goodbye as friends.”

“You mean…that –”

“– is a yes.”

Mouths clash cold yet passionate, the fervour growing with each stroke of tongue tips or nibble at the other’s lips and soon Loki’s pushing the straps of your dress aside gently. Every inch of skin is lavished with kisses that make goosebumps break out and you nipples harden against the lace (which is all that remains as cover). Once the soft cotton hangs from your hips, the god’s roaming hands come to rest at your waist. You know what he’s about to do, but it amazes you regardless. It always does. Lifting you to your feet as though you weigh nothing at all and standing you on the bed. Loki’s nose presses against the skin of your belly or, if he stretches a bit, the cleavage where he can inhale your scent while his hands bring the dress the rest of the way down. Probably holding it back rather than letting it fall for the simple purpose of enjoying the slow reveal of your body.

“My love.” Kisses are peppered onto your hips. “My queen.” Hands roam the back of your thighs. “My fiancée.” A long arm reaches up along your back to release the hooks on the bra. “Mine.”

You vaguely hear where the lacy clothing lands, but not really because Loki’s mouth and hands are at your breasts, the Silver Tongue of his working the kind of magic that’s reserved for you only. Moans fill the room as the god slides down your panties to allow access to a hand, fingers skimming through the folds and teasing you in just the right way by adding pressure with the hell of the hand whenever possible.

Even with your fingers entwined with Loki’s black hair, it’s hard to keep balance on the soft bed and you’re grateful by the time he lays you down and positions himself to continue the work between your legs. Languidly. Broad licks supplemented by pressure administered by a thumb to your clit to have you pussy aching and clenching helplessly around nothing. You on the verge of cumming when his lips close around the little bundle of nerves.

“Please, Loki.”

“Hmmmm?” The sound sends vibrations into you, but he detaches before it sets off a climax. “Not yet, my love.”

_Fuck!_ It wouldn’t be smart to say that out loud. The man _thrives_ on teasing to the point that it nearly becomes torture, so you adopt a different tactic and suggest with a purr that _he_ be the one to be treated.

Obviously, he can’t resist to see your lips wrapped around his cock and soon, Loki’s the one to groan and beg for release either in your mouth or deep within the needing cunt. Oh, the delicious revenge is sweet. Now you’re the one to move slowly, crawling up his body and trailing kisses (and bites) along the way until your straddling him with his erection sliding between the slick folds in a manner that stimulates your clit just perfectly. Fingers digging into your thighs, he lies and watches as you succumb to an orgasm, juices dripping onto his balls and the throbbing shaft.

“Please…” he nearly whines as you start to come down.

A nod is all he needs before he’s flipped you both around and sheathed himself fully in you, setting off a new wave of ecstasy which he somehow manages to wait out, still as a statue. But you see his struggle. You see it in his eyes that are turning crimson, and you feel it on his body temperature which is dropping.

“Let me see you,” you whisper hoarsely, “the real you.”

Loki knows how attractive you find the Jotun form and happily complies with your request. Each body part enlarges – some parts more than others, thank goodness, but you still feel the swell of his cock within you, stretching your walls a bit more.

“God, yes!”

Rolling his hips, the partner in crime pulls out almost completely before thrusting back forcefully, making you scoot up the bed until you can reach and stem against on the headboard, and each stroke Loki gives is met by a tilt of your hips. Teeth find the crook of your throat, latching on hard enough that it will bruise tomorrow and softly enough for the pain not to be too much.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

He sees [Y/N]’s eyelashes flutter as she arches against his blue body. Heat against cold. The walls of her cunt clench and pulsate, sending tremors through her perfect shape and breaking the cry that falls from her lips. And Loki is right at the precipice with the woman, toppling over the edge and into a sea of bliss. It is all he can do to keep himself from collapsing onto [Y/N], rolling off instead to lie panting next to her.

She is still shivering, when the god regains his strength enough to focus his seiðr to care for her before finally pulling the light of his live into his arms.

“I love you,” she smiles drowsily, “all the time.” She doesn’t bother to stifle a yawn,

Her temple is hot against his lips. “I love you too. Always.”

There is no answer save for the gentle breathing.

_Always._

**Baby be a simple kind of man  
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can**


End file.
